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UNDER   THE    OLIVE 


"  The  great  of  old! 

The  dead,  but  sceptred  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns  " 


SECOND   EDITION. 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 
(Elje  Etber^itfe  |3rc^,  Camfortlrgc 

1881 


Copyright,  1880, 
By  MBS.  ANNIE  FIELDS 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge: 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co 


CONTENTS. 


PAQB 

PRELUDE      1 

To  THE  LYRIC  MUSE 9 

To  THE  POETESS 13 

THE  LAST  CONTEST  OF  ^ESCHYLUS        .        .  17 

SOPHOCLES 25 

EURIPIDES 35 

THE  LANTERN  OP  SESTOS 41 

HELENA 61 

HERAKLES 77 

ARTEMIS 89 

ANTIXOUS 97 

ACHILLES 105 

APHRODITE  OF  MELOS 113 

THEOCRITUS 121 

AT  THE  FORGE 125 

ELEGY  TO  DAPHNIS 129 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

CLYTIA 135 

THE  RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE       .        .        .  139 

NOT  BY  WILL  AND  NOT  IN  STRIVING     .        .  187 
TRANSLATIONS: 

ANACREON'S  GRAVE 193 

MUSAGETES        .        .                .        .        .  194 

THE  NIGHTINGALE 196 

PANDORA 197 

NOTES  .                                                            .  277 


Stack 
Annex 
stack:" 

'Annex: 


PRELUDE. 


PRELUDE. 


RAGRANCE  of  youth, 
With  thy  light  and  thy  joy, 
Thy  rapture  and  truth ; 
Thou  art  not  man's  toy, 

Thou  shall  break  not  nor  vanish, 

Nor  thee  shall  any  destroy  ! 

Youth  must  ever  endure 

In  the  heart  of  the  pure, 

And  the  leaves  be  uncurled 

That  sleep  in  the  bosom  of  spring  ; 

And  the  banners  unfurled 

Of  the  flower  de  luce  ; 

They  bring  truce 

To  winter  and  labor,  they  sing 

The  beginning, 


UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

The  tale  of  the  garden, 
Where  after  the  heat  of  the  day  man  may 
rest. 

But  the  world  has  grown  old, 

And  forgets  to  be  blest, 

And  to  laugh  in  the  garden  at  noon  ; 

He  is  gray, 

He  remembers  the  passions  of  men  ; 

For  their  sake 

He  is  sad,  he  is  cold, 

And  cries,  "  Behold  death  cometh  soon." 

0  youth  of  the  world, 
Thou  wert  sweet  ! 

In  thy  bud 

Slept  nor  canker  nor  pain  ; 

In  the  blood 

Of  thy  grape  was  no  frost  and  no  rain  ; 

1  love  thee  !    I  follow  thy  feet  ! 
The  youth  of  my  heart, 

And  the  deathless  fire 

Leap  to  embrace  thee  : 

And  nigher,  and  nigher, 

Through  the  darkness  of  grief  and   the 

smart, 
Thy  form  do  I  see. 


PREL  UDE.  5 

But  the  tremulous  hand  of  the  years 
Has  brought  me  a  friend. 
Beautiful  gift  beyond  price  ! 
Beyond  loss,  beyond  tears  ! 
Hither  she  stands,  clad  in  a  veil. 
O  thou  youth  of  the  world  ! 
She  was  a  stranger  to  thee, 
Thou  didst  fear  her  and  flee. 

Sorrow  is  her  name  ; 

And  the  face  of  Sorrow  is  pale  ; 

But  her  heart  is  aflame 

With  a  fire  no  winter  can  tame. 

Her  love  will  not  bend 

To  the  storm, 

To  the  voices  of  pleasure, 

Nor  faint  in  the  arms  of  the  earth  ; 

But  she  followeth  ever  the  form 

Of  the  Master  whose  promise  is  sure, 

Who  knows  both  our  death  and  our  birtl 

Sorrow,  thou  gift  of  time  ! 
What  were  man's  day  without  thee  I 
Thou  art  his  prime,  and  nought 
Can  sever  his  thought 


UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Utterly  from  this  earthly  sea, 
Till  thy  hand  be  laid  within  his, 
And  thy  tender  lips 

Give  to  thine  own,  thy  chosen,  the  sacred 
kiss. 

Fear  her  not  ! 

Stilly  the  bird  slips 

Into  the  heart  of  the  tree  ; 

We  had  forgot, 

Save  for  her, 

Love  is  less  brief  than  the  spring. 

She  is  the  worshipper  ! 

Every  green  thine:, 

The  passing  of  clouds, 

The  shadow  of  birds, 

And  wandering  in  the  garden-land  that  lies 

Between  the  pinnacles  of  fame  and   the 

great  sea, 
Are  dear  to  her. 

Dear  to  her  eyes 

Are  the  white-breasted  youth, 

And  clear-cut  shadows  of  the  olive  boughs; 

The  slender  maid, 


PREL  UDE.  7 

White  oxen  with  calm  brows, 
And  grace  that  shrouds 
The  hero  unafraid. 

But  ah  !   they  loved  her  not  and  they  have 


Weeping  they  struggled  with  resistless  waves  : 
Then  in  the  vast  unknown  abysm  they  cast 
Their  mighty  limbs, 
And  sank  to  wander  in  dark  caves. 

If,  Sorrow,  we  have  loved  thee  over  well, 

And  have  forgot  to  frame  the  sacred  hymns 

To  the  young  year  or  the  late  ripening  vine, 

And  learned  instead  some  piteous  tale  to  tell, 

Thou  wilt  forgive  the  hearts  that  must  repine. 

Thy  heart  is  brave  ! 

Thou  dost  not  waste  thyself  in  tears, 

But  standest  on  the  hillock  of  the  grave 

To  point  us  higher  with  the  greatening  years. 


TO   THE  LYRIC   MUSE. 


TO   THE   LYRIC   MUSE. 


WRITTEN    IN   AUTUMN. 

l(HY  dost  thou  linger,  now  the  lamps 

are  out  ! 
Why  dost  thou  stay,  the  roses  being 

dead  ! 

What  is  thy  joy,  now  the  white  swan  is  fled 
To  southern  gardens  lapped  by  southern  seas  ! 
No  more  for  tliee  the  laughter  and  the  shout, 
Nor    youthful  forms   outstretched   in    summer 
ease. 

No  more,  and  yet  thy  pallid  figure  roams 
Adown  the  alleys,  over  faded  leaves, 
And  where  through  misty  beams  the  grape  still 
weaves 


12  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

A  broken  tracery  on  the  faded  grass; 
Over  what  unseen  bed  of  amaranth  comes 
Odor  to  thee,  our  sense  knows  not,  alas  ! 

Thy  darkling  passion  now  doth  seem  to  feed 
On  briny  perfumes  of  the  eastern  gale ; 
Vapors  of  morning  fold  thee  in  their  veil  ; 
And  in  the  noonday  silently  rain  down 
Out  of  bright  skies  the  acorn  and  the  seed ; 
Yet  dost  thou  breathe  a  rapture  all  thine  own. 

Wilt  thou  not  show  me  where  thy  spirit  feeds, 
And  where  the  roses  of  thy  desire  still  bloom, 
The  swan  indeed  being  fled,  and  earth  a  tomb  ! 
Wilt  thou  not  bring  me   where  the  wondrous 

voice, 

Hiding  with  spring-time  in  the  falling  seeds, 
May  bid  the  heart  of  dying  men  reioice  ! 


TO   THE   POETESS. 


TO  THE   POETESS. 


AUGHTER  of  Love  !     Out  of  the 

flowing  river, 

Bearing  the  tide  of  life  upon  its  bil- 
low, 

Down   to  that  gulf  where  love  and  song  to- 
gether 

Sink  and  must  perish : 
Out  of  that  fatal  and  resistless  current, 
One  little  song  of  thine  to  thy  great  mother, 
Treasured  upon  the  heart  of  earth  forever, 
Alone  is  rescued. 

Yet  when   spring  comes,    and  weary   is   the 

spirit, 

When  love  is  here,  but  absent  is  the  lover, 
And  life  is  here,  and  only  love  is  dying, 

Then  turn  we,  longing, 


l6  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Singer  to  thee !     Through  ages  unforgotten  ; 
Where  beats  the  heart  of  one  who  in  her  lov- 
ing 

Sang,  all  for  love,  and  gave  herself  in  singing 
To  the  sea's  bosom. 


THE   LAST   CONTEST   OF 
AESCHYLUS. 


THE   LAST   CONTEST  OF  AESCHY- 
LUS. 

LENCE  from  out  the  arch  of  meas- 
ureless heaven 
Looked  down  upon  the  foaming  sea 

of  men, 
Where  grace  and  beauty  and  the  strength  of 

earth 

Filled  Athens'  amphitheatre  to  its  verge. 
The  limitless  horizon  of  her  pride 
Widened  that  day  in  Greece,  when  there  re- 
turned 
Kimon,    and   brought   the   bones   of    Theseus 

home. 

Then  many  a  singer  offered  up  his  Song  ; 
But  JEschylus,  with  weight  of  many  years 
O'erladen,  master  of  the  tragic  art, 


20  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Wearing  both  age  and  honor  in  one  crown, 
Green  laurel,  but  o'ersilvered,  led  the  way. 
The  myriad-braided  voices  sprang  like  one, 
Up  to  the  stillness  as  the  poet  trod 
That   stage   once   more,  where   glory  oft   had 

stooped 
From  the  bright  heaven  and  kissed  him  as  her 

child. 

The  leaves  of  glory's  crown  were  still  the  same, 
From   spring-time   round  through  all  the  sea- 
sons' change, 

Or  grown  more  beautiful  after  summers'  past. 
Now  in  the  falling  autumn,  while  the  winds 
Of  winter  blew  across  his  scanty  days, 
He  gathered  up  life's  embers,  laid  thereto 
The  fires  of  slow  experience,  till  uprose 
Again  therefrom  the  poet's  magic  forms, 
Beckoning  the  eye  of  fame  once  more  to  earth. 
Proudly  he  bore  a  scroll,  though  heavy  age 
Delayed  his  feet,  and  proudly  laid  it  down 
Before  the  judges  ;  then  he  passed  as  one 
Whose  duty  done  turns  him  to  other  thoughts. 
But  in  the  train  that  followed,  as  must  be 
Forever  in  the  footsteps  of  the  gi'eat, 
Came  a  long  line  of  weaklier  aspirants, 


THE  LAST  CONTEST  OF  AESCHYLUS.   21 

Who  make  desire  co-equal  with  the  deed, 

Or  gazing  at  the  sun  of  self,  see  blots 

Where  the  great  sun  should  be  !     These  also 

passed 

Before  the  patient  judges,  with  their  scrolls. 
Last  in  the  train  came  one,  the  youngest  form 
And  noblest,  moving  in  true  harmony 
To  the  glad  sound  of  music  still  prolonged, 
And  wearing  on  his  brow  the  light  that  shines 
From  the  first  coming  star,  ere  sunset  dies. 
And  JEschylus  loved  the  boy,  whom,  when  he 

heard 
The  people   greet,   he  turned  and  smiled  on 

him; 

He  saw  not  that  the  youth  had  laid  a  scroll, 
Even  he,  and  proudly,  at  the  judges'  feet. 

But  now  the  games  succeeded,  then  a  pause, 
And  after  came  the  judges  with  the  scrolls; 
Two  scrolls,  not  one,  as  in  departed  years. 
And  this  saw  none  but  the  youth,  Sophocles, 
Who  stood  with  head  erect  and  shining  eyes, 
As  if  the  beacon  of  some  promised  land 
Caught  his  strong  vision  and  entranced  it  there. 
Then  while  the  earth  made  mimicry  of  heuven 


22  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

With    stillness,    calmly   spake    tlie    mightiest 

judge  : 

"  O  JEschylus !     The  father  of  our  song ! 
Athenian  master  of  the  tragic  lyre 
Thou   the   incomparable  !     Swayer   of   strong 

hearts  ! 

Immortal  minstrel  of  immortal  deeds  ! 
The  autumn  grows  apace,  and  all  must  die  ; 
Soon  winter  comes,  and  silence.     .ZEschylus  ! 
After  that  silence  laughs  the  tuneful  spring  ! 
Read'st  thou  our  meaning  through  this  slender 

veil 

Of  nature's  weaving?     Sophocles,  stand  forth  ! 
Behold  fame  calls  thee  to  her  loftiest  seat, 
And  bids  thee  wear  her  crown.     Stand  forth, 

I  say  !  " 

Then,  like  a  fawn,  the  youthful  poet  sprang 
From  the  dark  thicket  of  new  crowding  friends, 
And  stood,  a  straight,  lithe  form  with  gentle 

mien, 
Crowned   first  with    light   of    happiness   and 

youth. 

But  ZEschylus,  the  old  man,  bending  lower 
Under  this  n^w  chief  weight  of  all  the  years, 


THE  LAST  CONTEST  OF  AESCHYLUS.   23 

Turned  from  that  scene,  turned  from  the  shout- 
ing crowd, 

Whose  every  voice  wounded  his  dying  soul 

With  arrows  poison-dipped,  and  walked  alone, 

Forgotten,  under  plane-trees,  by  the  stream. 

"  The  last!  The  last  !  Have  I  no  more  to 
do 

With  this  sweet  world  !  Is  the  bright  morn- 
ing now 

No  longer  fraught  for  me  with  crowding  song  ! 

Will  evening  bring  no  unsought  fruitage  home! 

Must  the  days  pass  and  these  poor  lips  be 
dumb, 

While  strewing  leaves  sing  falling  through  the 
air, 

And  autumn  gathers  in  her  richest  fruit  ! 

Where  is  my  spring  departed  !  Where,  O 
gods ! 

Within  my  spirit  still  the  building  birds 

I  hear,  with  voice  more  tender  than  when 
leaves 

Are  budding  and  the  happy  earth  is  gay. 

Am  I,  indeed,  grown  dumb  for  evermore! 

Take  me,  O  bark  !  Take  me  thou  flowing 
stream  1 


24  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Who  knowest  nought  of  death  save  when  thy 

waves 

Rush  to  new  life  upon  the  ocean's  breast. 
Bear  thou  me  singing  to  the  under  world  ! 
From  earth's  lone  pastures  to  the  changeless 

sea 
Beyond  the  caves  of  death,  where  life  is  young. 


SOPHOCLES. 


SOPHOCLES. 

Enter  the  son  and  grandson  of  Sophocles,  IOPHON  and 
the  YOUNG  SOPHOCLES. 


IOPHON. 
AM  the  elder  ! 


YOUNG  SOPHOCLES. 

And  I  the  latest  born ! 
Therefore,  perchance,  of  all  the  best  beloved. 


IOPHON. 
Yet  right  is  mine,  I  am  the  lawful  heir. 


YOUNG  SOPHOCLES. 


Is  it  not  right  to  give  what  is  our  own 
As  we  would  list? 


28  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 


IOPHOX. 

No  !     Always  the  first-born 
Holds  a  just  claim. 

YOUNG  SOPHOCLES. 

Indeed  I  know  that  well, 
But  thou  dost  claim  the  whole  or  largest  part. 

IOPHON. 

And  justly,  too  !     Thou  art  a  bastard  son. 

YOUNG  SOPHOCLES. 

Better  be  that  and  dutiful,  than  as  thou. 


Ha  !     What  sayest  thou  ?     Is  it,  then,  come  to 
this  I 

[They  seize  their  weapons. 

SOPHOCLES  enters,  bowed  with  years.     JTe  speaks. 

Children,  I  pray,  if  still  ye  love  me,  hold  ! 
Go,  lophon,  they  call  thee  in  the  courts  ! 
To   thy   book,    Sophocles,    and   the    sounding 
rhyme. 

[They  go  out. 


SOPHOCLES.  29 

What  shall  be  done  with  these  two  braggart 

boys? 

In  their  first  youth  I  joyed  in  their  warm  blood, 
And  took  too  little  heed  lest  want  of  love 
Might  breed  an  angry  discord  at  the  last  ; 
And  now  behold  they  have  reached  man's  es- 
tate, 

"But  in  the  garden  of  their  hearts  is  found 
No  fruit  or  blossom  of  fraternal  good. 

MESSFNGEK  enters  nnrl  speaks. 
Sophocles,  thou  art  summoned  to  the  courts. 

SOPHOCLES. 
Upon  what  plea  am  I  thus  hither  called? 

MESSENGER. 

To  prove  how  old  thou  art,  and  how  unfit 
Justly  to  give  away  the  goods  thou  hast. 

SOPHOCLES. 

This,  Tophon,  alas  !   must  be  thy  deed  ! 
Hath  jealousy  thee  taught  to  hate  thy  sire? 
The  gods  give  strength  and  arm  me  with  their 
love  ! 


30  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Must  the  world  seek  to  find  the  ravages, 
The  rents  and  fissures  of  these  wintry  years, 
Young   love   should    cover  with   the  leaves  of 

spring  ! 

Do  men  seek  these  !     Then  come,  my  (Edipus! 
Thou  shalt  with  me,  companion  of  my  age  ! 
[Tie  takes  tenderly  in  Jiis  hand  the  scroll  containing 
his  (Edipus  Coloneus.     Tlity  go  out. 

SCENE:  The  Court  Room.  Judges,  a  large  con- 
course of  people,  and  the  son  and  grandson  of  SOPH- 
OOLKS.  Enter  Aftssenyer,  followed  by  the  ayed poet 
who  bears  the  scroll. 

soriion.KS. 

Bowed  half  with  age  and  half  with  reverence, 

thus, 

I,  Sophocles,  now  answer  to  your  call  ; 
Questioned  have  I  the  cause  and  the  reason 

learned. 

Lo,  I  am  here  that  all  the  world  may  see 
These  feeble  limbs  that  signal  of  decay  ! 
But,  know  ye,  ere  the  aged  oak  must  die, 
Long  after  the  strong  years  have  bent  his  form, 
The  spring  still  gently  weaves  a  leafy  crown, 
Fresh  as  of  yore  to  deck  his  wintry  head. 


SOPHOCLES.  31 

And  now,  O  people  mine,  who  have  loved  my 

song, 

Ye  shall  be  judges  if  the  spring  have  brought 
Late  unto  me,  the  aged  oak,  a  crown. 
Hear  ye  once  more,  ere  yet  the  river  of  sleep 
Bear  me  away  far  on  its  darkening  tide, 
The  music  breathed  upon  me  from  these  fields. 
If  to  your  ears,  alas!  the  shattered  strings 
No  longer  sing,  but  breathe  a  discord  harsh, 
I  will  return  and  draw  this  mantle  close 
About  my  head  and  lay  me  down  to  die. 
But  if  ye  hear  the  wonted  spirit  call, 
Framing  the  natural  song  that  fills  this  world 
To  -\ diviner  form,  then  shall  ye  all  believe 
The  love  I  bear  to  those  most  near  to  me 
Is  living  still,  and  living  cannot  wrong; 
To  me,  it  seems,  the  love  I  bear  to  thee, 
Athens,  blooms  fresh  as  violets  in  yon  wood, 
Making  new  spring  within  this  aged  breast. 

[He  reads  the  chorus  in  praise  of  the  sacred  {/rove 
of  Colonus. 

STROPHE. 
I. 

"  Stranger  !     The  station  of  stallions, 
Fairest  of  spots  hast  thou  chosen, 


32  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Colonus  the  glistening. 

Here  in  fresh  blooming  thickets 

The  nightingale  hides  her  ; 

And  pours  her  sweet  sorrow 

'Mid  thick-growing  ivy  and  shadows  the  gods 

love; 

Here  trees  with  fruit  laden, 
By  storm-winds  untouched, 
And  by  mortals  unshaken  ; 
Here  Bacchus  the  reveller, 
Chief  loves  to  wander, 
By  nymph-gods  encircled." 

AXTISTROPHE. 
I. 

"  And  here  on  this  spot  dews  of  heaven 
Have  watered  and  fed  fair  Narcissus, 
Each  day  freshly  blooming, 
For  time-honored  wreaths  of  two  goddesses; 
And  here  is  the  golden-leaved  crocus, 
And  here  are  unsealed  the  sleepless 
Streams  of  Kephissos, 
That  fail  not,  but  ever  are  rippling 
Through  plains  and  rich  pastures, 
Gathering  the  unsullied  rain  drops 


SOPHOCLES. 

From  wide-breasted  liill-sides, 
Scorned  by  no  choir  of  the  Muses, 
Nor  yet  by  gold-reined  Aphrodite.' 


*'  Here  marvel  unknown  unto  Asia, 
Or  unto  the  famed  isle,  the  Dorian, 
Grows  unnursed  of  the  gardener  ; 
Blue-green  olive  grove, 
Blest  of  her  children, 
Terror  of  the  enemy, 
Of  this  green  earth  the  glory  ! 
Never  in  blossom, 
Nor  in  fading  of  autumn, 
Shall  command  slay  thy  beauty  ; 
For  Zeus  the  protector 
Of  fruits  watches  ever, 
And  blue-eyed  Athene." 

AXTISTROPHE. 
II. 

'  Praise  all  others  excelling 
I  tying  for  thy  chief  pride,  thy  greatest, 
Gift  of  our  father,  the  sea-god  ; 
3 


34  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Taming  of  horses  and  waters, 

These  are  the  pride  of  our  mother, 

Granted  our  home  and  our  city, 

Poseidon,  by  thee; 

Thou,  the  bridle  subduing, 

First  brought  to  these  waysides, 

And  the  oar  too,  shapely,  foam-flinging, 

Beckoning  the  crowd,  hundred-footed, 

Of  Nereids  following  ever, 

And  dancing  around  in  the  billows." 

Land  of  all  lands,  with  loftiest  praises  crowned, 
Prove  now  if  thou  deserve  this  shining  wreath. 

He  is  silent.     The  people  shout. 
Sophocles.   Child  of    Athens  !     The   deathless 

one  ! 

[He  is  borne  away  triumphant  upon  the  shonltlers 
of 'the  people. 


EURIPIDES. 


EURIPIDES. 


EHOLD    I    am   the   third  !      Third 

comer  and  third  choice  ! 
The  godliest  one  hath  passed  !   yet 

the  blue  dome  of  heaven 
Echoes  his   word    repeated   through    the   un- 
measured air, 
Bidding  the  people  tow  and  worship  the  gods 

and  their  deeds. 
Is  there  one  to  lead  them  now  and  bring  them 

forth  to  the  seats, 
Circle  on  circle  filled  with  a  nation  waiting  to 

hear  ! 
.ZEschylus  gone,  —  who  else  may  interpret  the 

gods  to  men  ! 
Time  is  less  long  than  his  fame,  yet  do  men 

ask  a  new  thing. 

I  could  not  do  the  work  of  my  master,  of  JEs- 
chylus,  no  ! 


38  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

But  my  heart  is  stirred  for  the  heart  of  a  peo- 
ple waiting  for  song, 
Waiting  to  hear  of  beauty  and  joy  and  a  love 

divine 
Which  sleep  in  the  darkest  ways  and  wake  to 

a  master's  wand. 
Patience,  my  heart  !     Have  I  not  said  that  I 

was  the  third  ! 
Sophocles  now  is  king,  ant!  royally  weareth  the 

crown. 
Soe  how  the  people  follow,  see  how  they  crowd 

to  the  seats, 
Breathing  the   breath  of   Colonus  brought  on 

his  picturing  words. 

See  how  they  weep  with  Antigone,  noblest  sis- 
ter and  child, 
Awed,  by  her  presence  enchanted,  and  (Edipus 

god-smitten,  old. 
Is  there  no  place  for  me  !     Why  with  a  breast 

grown  warm, 
Warm  with  desire  to  answer  their  thoughts  and 

questioning  eyes, 
That  turn  to  the  east  and  west,  and  ask  of  the 

north  and  south, 
Turning  no   more  to   their  gods  but  keeping 

aloof  in  their  dread, 


EURIPIDES.  39 

Is  there  no  room   for  another,  for  me,  whose 

spirit  hath  known 
Sorrow  of  life  and   sorrow  of  death  and  the 

hero's  soul  ? 
One  who  hath  known  the  sweetness  of  woman, 

her  glory  and  crown  ? 
One  who  hath  known   of  her  shame,  deepest 

blackness  of  earth  ? 
Hear  me,  hear  me,  ye  people  !     Long  have  I 

wrought  for  your  love, 
Leading  you  into  the  clear  bright  air  from  the 

noise  of  the  courts, 
Telling  you  nought  of  the  gods,  for  what  can  I 

know  of  their  ways  ! 
But  the  ways  of  our  brothers  we  see-,  we  feel 

both  their  sadness  and  pain. 
Polyxena   dying   for  freedom,    and   they  who 

have  died  for  truth, 
Others,  those  glad  bright  spirits,  who  died  for 

love, 
These  are  of  us !     Ah,  brothers  and  sisters,  our 

joy  and  our  pain 
Are  like  unto  theirs  !     Hear  ye  the  music,  see 

but  the  light 
Breathed   from  these  living  words,  or  kindled 

bv  death's  dim  torch. 


40  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Suddenly  was  he  still;  closed  were  those  plead- 
ing lips: 

Ended  the  long  desire,  ended  laborious  days ; 

Silent  the  fountain  of  song  from  rivulet  and 
from  fell. 

Sophocles  came,  the  master,  the  old  man,  leav- 
ing a  tear 

Ages  have  loved  to  treasure  there  on  Euripides' 
grave. 

Latest  born  of   the   three  !      Who   shall   dare 

name  the  most  great  ! 
Poet  whose  air  repeated  saved  the  Athenian 

walls, 
Grieving   for   sad   Electra,   still  do  thy  warm 

tears  fall  ! 
Gods  of  Greece  !  ye  are  cold  and  old  as  marble 

and  clay; 
Songs  of  Euripides  !  young  are  ye,  fresh  as  the 

shade  of  Cithaeron. 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS. 


THE   LANTERN   OF   SESTOS. 

JATERS  of  song,   ever  flowing,    that 
^         whisper  of  truth  and  fulfillment, 
So'emn  your  voices,  yet  sweet,  foun- 


tains of  healing  to  men. 


Old  is  the  legend  of  lovers  the  world  is  forever 

repeating, 
Old  as  the  years  and  yet  young,  glad  as  the 

vision  of  dawn  ; 
Old  as  the  temples  of  Kypris,  whose  fragments 

of  beauty  we  worship, 
Young  as  the  blood  that  now  leaps  fresh  with 

the  fountains  of  June. 
Virgil  hath  sung  of  the  story,   recounted  by 

Ovid  and  Statius, 
Musseus,  sweetest  of  all,  sad  as  the  autumn's 

decay ; 


44  UNDER  THE    OLIVE. 

Carven  by  him  it  remains  who  hath  used  fair 

Greek  words  for  his  chisel, 
Like  to  a  cameo- shell  clasping  the  robe  of  a 

nymph. 
Burdened  with  lustre  and  loss,  the  tale  as  by 

Marlowe  repeated ; 
Thus  is  it  age  by  age  caught  to  the  heart  of 

mankind. 
Lovers  whose  glances  now  meet  and  now  bend 

to  the  page  ye  are  reading, 
Are  there  no  billows  outstretched  between  ye 

and  your  love? 
Happy  are  ye  and  good  then  pitiful  are  ye  to 

others, 
Swept  by  adversity's  .wave  far  from  the  feet 

they  adore. 

High  was  the  tower  and  windy  where  Hero 

lonely  abiding 
Fed  the  desires  of  a  maid,  whispering  her  heart 

unto  none; 
There  on  the  verge  of  the  ocean  she  watched 

from  her  height  for  the  morning, 
Where  the  motionless  waves  lay  unstirred,  fired 

by  no  dart  of  the  sun, 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SE8TU8.  40 

Till,  wakened  at  last  and  pierced  by  his  flames, 

she  beheld  like  a  blossom 
Dawn  lying  ro?y  and  soft  rocked  on  the  breas* 

of  the  sea. 
When  the  day  broadened  she  sought  with  her 

handmaid  the  temple  of  Kypris, 
Praying  the  goddess  of  love  safely  her  servant 

to  keep; 
Ended  her  orison,  straight  she  returned  to  her 

chamber  of  silence, 
Far  from   the   dance,  and  shut  far  from  the 

music  of  youth. 
Now  the  glad  season  approached,  the  yearly 

feast  of  Adonis, 
When    women    to   worship   went    forth,    and 

youths  to  gaze  on  the  maids. 
There  in  the  temple's  most  holy  recesses  Hero 

long  lingered, 
Hidden  from  thoughts  of  the  world,  seen  by  no 

eye  of  the  crowd. 
Soft  fell  the  lawn  of  her  robe  round  the  grace 

of  her  limbs    low  declining, 
Her  veil,  half  forgotten,  slipped  down  from  her 

ivory  throat, 
Lost  in  the  shadowy  shrine   while  her  spirit 

arose  in  petition, 


46  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Lover  she  knew  not,  nor  one  clothed  there  in 

beauty  and  strength. 
He  had  seen  her  and  followed  her  hither  with 

eyes  full  of  ardor, 

Noble  and  pure,  audacious  to  die  or  to  win. 
Lingered  he  there  impatient,  till  all  her  devo- 
tions were  ended, 
Hoping  to  hear  but  her  voice,  longing  to  touch 

but  her  hand. 
Ardent  and   strong  and  beautiful  was  he  far 

above  others, 
Daring  far  above  all,  he  who  drew  near  to  her 

shrine.    ., 
Speaking   now   he   addressed   her,    "  Abydos, 

home  of  my  fathers, 
Stands  divided  from  thee;  only  by  ships  may 

we  come, 
Yet  there   dwells  not  in  Abydos,   nor  in   the 

wide  region  of  Sestos, 
One  who  moveth  my  heart  save  when  it  dvvell- 

eth  with  thee. 
Hear  ye  the  words  I  would  speak,  nor  fear  a 

foe  in  thy  lover, 
One  who  before  thy  Queen,  Kypris  the  goddess, 

now  prays 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  47 

Permission  to  touch  and  to  kiss  but  thy  rosy- 
tipped  fingers, 
Gaze  in  thine  eyes,  and  perchance  whisper  the 

accents  of  love." 
Downcast  her  vision  became,  and  the  blood  her 

bright  shoulder  suffusing, 
Told  all  the  tale  of  her  thought,  ere  her  slow 

lips  gave  response; 
Gently  she  turned  her  aside,  nor  answered  his 

tender  assurance, 
Left  not  the  shade  nor  the  shrine,  gave  not  her 

hand  unto  him. 
But  swift  is  the  arrow  of  Love,  and  his  missive 

ethereal  speeding 
Straight  from  the  young  man's  heart  entered 

the  breast  of  the  maid. 
Then  he  prayed  her  again  to  tell  him  her  name 

and  her  story. 
Asking,  "  Where  is  thy  home,  where  may  I 

seek  thee,  my  love?" 
"  I  am  Hero,"   she    said,   "  and  my  home    is 

washed  by  the  ocean. 

Left  in  yon  tower  alone,  save  for  one  hand- 
maid now  old  ; 
Music  is  none  for  me  if  no  voice  of  the  sea-bird 

be  calling, 


48  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Dance  there  is  none,  but  the  dance  led  by  the 

waves  on  the  strand. 
High  is  my  chamber  and  silent,  the  pathway 

unknown  unto  any 
Save  to  the  jewels  of  the  air  borne  on  their 

pinions  of  flame, 
Flitting   and    stirring  with  kisses  the  jars  of 

alyssum  and  lilies 
Lowering  my  casement  and  breathing  of  valleys 

and  rills." 
Pausing  again,  while  the  blood  all  her  throat 

and  her  forehead  was  staining  : 
**  Why  do  I  say  this  to  thee?    I  but  a  stranger, 

a  maid! " 
Then  he  returned  :    "  Nay  rather  to  me  may 

my  words  be  forgiven, 
Heated  with  fires  of   the   heart,  heated  with 

flames  of  desire! 
Here  in  this  sacred  enclosure,  by  the  mother  of 

love  thus  protected, 
Nought  can  betray  or  alarm,  nothing  can  lead 

thee  astray. 
Turn  not  aside,  nor  hide  thus  from  me  thy  face 

and  its  meaning, 
Give  me  at  least  thy  hand,   visible  token  of 

peace." 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  49 

Shyly  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  swiftly  his 
kisses  descended, 

Rained  down  over  it,  lo!  till  it  blushed  in  re- 
turn. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  yield,  then,"  he  cried,  "  yield 
thyself  unto  my  honor, 

Beautiful  maiden  of  Sestos,  thou,  the  fairest  of 
all? 

Wilt  thou  not  bid  me  to  come  unto  thy  window 
forsaken, 

Bid  me  to  comfort  thee  there,  nevermore  lonely 
or  sad  ? 

Hither  the  goddess  hath  led  me  that  I  hence- 
forth may  protect  thee, 

Thee,  the  chosen  of  gods,  light  of  my  life  and 
my  bride." 

Turning  her  glances  upon  him,  while  she  stood 
there  in  maiden  confusion, 

Seeing  his  beauty  and  grace,  seeing  his  honor 
and  truth, 

"  Tell  me,"   she  answered,   "  the  name   thou 
dost  bear  and  the  name  of  thy  parents  ; 

Tell  me  thy  story  of  life,  tell  me  the  feats  thou 
hast  done ; 
4 


50  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Thou  hast  told  me  already  thy  home  is  afar  in 

A  by  d  os, 
How  canst  thou  meet  me  unseen,  borne  by  no 

white-winged  ship?" 
**  I  am  L'eander,"  he  said,  "  the  love-crowned 

husband  of  Hero! 
These  strong  limbs  be  my  ship  !    Lamp  of  my 

life,  be  my  star  ! 
Now  are  the  nights  of  May,  and  the  soft-veiled 

skies  of  the  spring-time 
Such  as  lovers  must  love,  shadows  of  night  and 

the  shrine. 

Late,   when   the  fires  of  the  town   are  extin- 
guished, thy  lamp  for  my  beacon, 
Swiftly  these  limbs  shall  cleave  waters  blue  as 

the  sky." 
"  See  where,  already  !  "   she  cried,  "  are  the 

feet  of  my  handmaid  approaching, 
Long  are  the  hours  we  must  wait,  brief  are  the 

moments  of  love  !  " 
Drooping  she  turned  unto  him  and  extended 

her  arms  in  acceptance, 
Sinking  with  senses  half  drowned,  lost  in  that 

one  short  embrace. 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  51 

"Farewell!"  he  murmured,  "farewell,  till  the 
moon  of  May  hath  turned  from  us, 

Hanging,  a  fragment  of  mist,  faint  on  the  fore- 
head of  day. 

Goddess,  and  mother  of  love,  whose  recesses 
have  given  us  shelter, 

Bring  me  to  answer  her  signal,  bring  me  to  find 
her,  my  bride  !  " 

Slowly  the  mantle  of  night  was  spread  o'er  the 

face  of  Abydos, 
Slowly  shone  out  the  stars  swung  in  the  purple 

expanse, 
Still  down  the  west  the  heavens  were  stained 

with  remembering  crimson, 
Lonely  the  lover  remained  pacing  the  picturing 

sands. 
One  by  one  from  afar  the  watch-towers  caught 

and  were  kindled, 
Ghost-like  sails  faded  out,  lost  inTthe  moonless 

expanse; 
Slowly,    more  slowly,    now  were   the  fires   of 

Sestos  extinguished, 
Night,  like  a  motionless  veil,  hid  all  the  rim  of 

the  earth. 


52  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Restless  the  waves  as  his  spirit  with  their  way- 
ward glances  inviting, 

White-lipped,  even  in  peace,  noisy  and  strong 
at  their  play; 

"  Come  !  They  ever  are  calling,  Come  !  to  our 
caverns  unsounded, 

Beautiful  harbors  of  peace,  strange  and  untrod- 
den by  man." 

Heeded  he  not  their  vain  music,  dreamed  he  of 
nought  save  her  beacon ; 

Star  which  should  rise  sole  for  him,  lit  in  the 
heart  of  his  love. 

"  True  is  my  darling,  most  true  !  yet  hath  she 
the  signal  forgotten  !  " 

Hardly  the  words  were  said  when  her  lamp 
shot  a  flame  from  afar; 

Swiftly  his  mantle  he  seized,  and  swift  round 
his  forehead  he  bound  it, 

Then  in  the  waters  he  plunged,  white  as  the 
shafts  of  her  shrine. 

Down  from  the  height  of  her  chamber  noise- 
lessly Hero  descended, 

Stepped  from  the  postern  door  out  to  the  feet 
of  the  sea ; 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  53 

There  in  her  arms  she  received  her  love,  the 

voyager,  wave-stained, 
Led   him  within,  and   his   limbs   washed   and 

anointed  with  oil. 

Bride  and  bridegroom  were  there,  but  where 

was  the  feast  of  the  bridal  ! 
Wedding  was  there,  yet  where,  guest  of  the 

wedding,  wert  thou  ! 
Bliss   of   marriage  was  there,  but  absent  the 

blessing  of  parents  ! 
Silent  the  halls,  and  the  hollows  of  the  night 

were  grown  still. 

Many   and  many   the   hours    through   the  too 

brief  midnights  of  summer, 
Waiting    the    signal   he    stood,    then    plunged 

through  seas  to  his  bride. 
Thus  lived  Hero,  a  wife  by  night,  and  by  day 

but  a  maiden, 
Till  the  flowers  were  faded  and  harvests  ripened 

and  billows  were  cold. 
Then  followed   the  season  of   tempests,  when 

gloomily  shadowed 
Evening  fell  black,  and  the  breeze  died,  and 

the  waves  were  aflame; 


51 

Noiselessly  crept  a  deluge  that  whispered  low 

to  the  ocean, 
Waking  the  winds  in  their  wrath,  sweeping  the 

land  with  their  might. 
Long  that  night  waited  Leander,  but  only  the 

waves'  wild  blue  lustre 
Lightened  the  awful  dark  shining  in  blackness 

profound. 
Twice  had  the  morning  arisen  ere  the  force  of 

the  tempest  was  broken. 
Then  came  winter  abroad,  calling  to  land  and 

to  sea. 
Burnished  like  steel  was  the  ocean's  face,  and 

the  unmeasured  forests 
Shook  their  long  locks  to  the  wind,  sweeping 

the  sky  with  their  hair. 
Glad  was  the  spirit  of  Hero,  and  spring  was 

chaunting  within  her, 
Surely  to-night  shall  the  lamp  lead  her  beloved 

to  his  own. 

High  was  the  wind  and  mighty  the  sea,  but  de- 
sire was  grown  stronger, 
Silencing  one  and  soothing  the  other  to  her 

mind. 
Clear-eyed  and  angry  and  strong  was  the  sun 

in  his  early  declining, 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  55 

Hungry  and  angry  the  waves  drew  themselves 

back  from  the  shore; 
Angrily    answered    the  wind-blast   from    each 

lofty  coigne  of  her  casement, 
Tenderly,   patiently  there,  Hero  awaited  her 

love. 
Busily  first  from    the  height  her  lantern   she 

bravely  suspended, 
Then  she  folded  her  hands,  nought  was  there 

left  to  be  done. 
Midnight,   with  clangorous  voices,   to   earth's 

dark  bosom  hath  spoken, 
Hero,    listening,    descends,   seeking    the    dark 

postern  door; 

Rudely  and  fiercely  the  wind  repels  her,  dis- 
puting her  passage, 
Firmly,  nay  sternly,  she  urgeth  and  holdeth 

her  ground. 
Ragged  and  rent  are  the  clouds,  by  the  might 

of  .ZEolus  driven, 
High  are  the  waves'  that  wash  over  the  rocks 

to  her  feet, 
Dark  is  the  sea,  and  dark  is  the  vault  where 

her  heaven  is  hidden, 


56  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Dark  is  her  lamp!    but  alas!    nought  of  that 

night  can  she  know. 
Beaten    by  surges   and   beaten  by  wind,   still 

alone  doth  she  linger, 
Then,  when  he  comes  not,  returns  laden  with 

grief  to  her  place. 
Now  beholdeth  she  first  her  lantern  by  storm 

blasts  extinguished, 
There  in  the  dark   must  she  sit,   waiting  till 

morning  appear. 
How  could  she  tell  if  the  treacherous  beacon 

had  led  him  to  venture, 
Bid  him  to  try  the  deep,  then  had  forsaken  the 

trust, 
Slow  are  the  hours,  grief- weighted  and  heavy 

the  tread  of  their  footfall, 
Laden   with   pain    they  approach,  fearful    the 

greeting  at  last. 
Thus  the  slow  feet  of  the  dawn   through   the 

dim  waste  of  darkness  approached  her, 
Heavily  treading,  as  tread  burdened  bearers  of 

woe. 
When  with   the   earliest  glimmer  she   leaned 

through  the  storm-shattered  casement, 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  57 

There  she  sees,  at  the  tower-foot,  his  fair  form 

that  she  loves; 

There  she  finds  in  the  dawn  that  the  lamp  in- 
deed is  extinguished, 
Flame  of  a  candle  and  lamp  life-lighted,  both 

as  if  one. 
None  may'  hear,  there  are  none  to  call,  there 

are  none  who  can  succor! 
Down  she  casts  herself,  down  she  falls,  on  all 

that  she  loves. 
What  were  her  life  without  him  !     And  what 

worth  were  the  days  thus  divided ! 
Whither  the  unseen  leads  there  will  she  follow 

his  feet. 

Wrapt  in  the  silence  of  sorrow,  here  endetk 

the  tender  Greek  story. 
But  thus  the  legend  continues:    There  by  the 

shore  in  high  noon 
Multitudes  gathered  together  and  saw  the  glad 

sunshine  adorning 
Whiteness  of  marble  and  limbs  pressed  closely 

each  unto  each. 
A-bsent  were  voices  of  hatred,  and  absent  the 

censure  of  lovers, 


58  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Youth  was  there,  beauty  and   truth,  —  death 

was  there,  welcome  for  love  ! 
Those  who  were   standing   by  and  who  knew 

both  the  pain  and  the  passion 
Uttered  no  word,  nor  did  they  who  knew  not 

the  ashes  nor  flame. 
Speechless  they  entered  the  tower,  and  found 

there  the  lantern  extinguished, 
Bore  it  away  to   Anteros    and  hung  o'er  his 

shrine. 
u  Come  ye,"  they  cried,  u  O  ye  lovers,  whose 

love  knoweth  nought  but  good  fortune, 
Kindle  this  lantern  afresh,  here  on  the  fane  of 

the  god." 
Loud  was  the  voice  of  the  people,  on  high  was 

the  beacon  erected, 
But   there  forever  unlighted  through  time  it 

remains. 

Still,  O  thou  treacherous  lamp,  thou  dost  hang 

in  the  eyes  of  all  lovers ; 
Still  do  they  laugh  with  the  spring,  glad  in  a 

joy  that  dies  not, 
Long  the  procession  enamored  in  passing  has 

given  it  homage, 


THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  59 

Yet  do  they  linger  not  fearing  lest   joy  shall 

take  wing. 
Better  a  sorrow  for  love,   they  say,   and  the 

voices  departed, 
Better  than  revelry,  lamps  relumed,  and  hearts 

that  forget. 
Grief  who  sittest  unchanging  beside  the  shrine 

of  these  lovers, 
Sit  ye  by  hearts  that  are  true;  whispering  of 

love  that  dies  not! 
What  can  be  sorrow  to  these  but  a  mantle,  a 

sign,  a  possession, 
Folding  them  ever  enwrapt,  blest  as  Elisha  of 

old! 
Clad  not  in  raiments  of  darkness,  nor  shrouded 

in  doubt  and  despondence, 
Rather  a  lamp  in  themselves,  beacons  of  light 

unto  men. 
Ye  are  but  shadows  to  them  who  possess  the 

passion  immortal, 
Lantern  forever  unlit!     Night  with  thy  silence 

and  stars! 

Take,  ye  devouring  days  !  the  gold  of  youth, 
the  desired  things  ; 


60  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Leave  ye  but  sorrow  white-robed  here  by  the 

feet  dearly  loved. 
She,  the  priestess,  shall  lead  us,  companion  of 

evening  and  morning, 
Till    the    one    morning    awake,   knowing    not 

shadow  or  night. 


HELENA. 


HELENA. 

ALL  for  my  guilt  and  his  deed,  Zeus  gives  us  a  doom  that  ia 
dreadful, 

Erev  to  live  in  the  songs  and  to  be  a  theme  for  the  min- 
strels. 

[LIAD.  —  E.  Arnold. 


ICH  fuhle  mich  so  fern  und  doch  so  nah, 
Und  sage  nur  zu  gern  :  da  bin  ich  !  da  ! 

Ich  scheme  mir  verlebt  und  doch  so  neu 
In  dich  verwebt,  dem  Unbekannten  treu. 

HELENA.  —  Second  Part  of  Faust. 


AM  Helen  of  Argos, 
I  am  Helen  of  Sparta, 
I,  the  daughter  of  Egypt, 
I,  the  inflamer  of  Troy  ; 
See  me,  Helen,  still  shining, 
There  where  shines  great  Achilles; 


64     '  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Blossoms  of  summer  I  bring  ye 
Born  not  of  shadows  nor  dreams. 

Early  from  Argos  he  bore  me, 
Theseus,  inconstant  of  lovers; 
Early  in  Argos  he  bound  me, 
He,  Menelaus  the  King; 
Queen  of  the  court  and  of  feasting, 
Queen  of  the  hearth  and  the  temple, 
Goddess  and  priestess  and  mother, 
Holding  Hermione's  hand. 

There  in  the  chambers  of  purple, 
Fair  as  the  statues  he  gathered, 
Worshipped  by  great  Menelaus, 
J,  his  Helen,  remained  ; 
Pure  as  when  Theseus  snatched  me, 
First  from  the  temple  of  Dian, 
Dancing  the  dances  of  childhood, 
Bare  to  her  ivory  floors. 

Theseus  snatched  me  and  held  me, 
Hiding  me  far  in  Aphidnai; 
Quickly  I  slipped  from  his  covert, 
J,  no  longer  enslaved. 


HELENA.  65 

Ah!  Menelaus  the  gentle, 
Gently  but  strongly  he  bound  me; 
Lo!  with  the  ships  I  departed,  — 
Ships  that  were  sailing  for  Troy. 

Paris  had  beckoned  me  hither; 
Waves  were  leaping  around  me, 
Whispering  of  freedom  and  gladness, 
Paris  whispered  of  love ; 
Thus  in  the  meshes  entangled 
Woven  by  hard  Aphrodite, 
Lost  was  I,  slave  to  her  service, 
She,  the  compeller  of  men. 

Tl^ere  on  the  turrets  of  Troia, 
Watching  the  combat  of  heroes, 
There  in  the  eye  of  the  noble, 
Sent  she  a  woman  to  me; 
Calling  me  hence  to  serve  Paris, 
He,  the  lascivious,  the  perfumed, 
She,  the  compeller,  she  drove  me 
Hence  in  the  faces  of  all. 

Slave  was  I,  bound  was  I,  Helen! 
Once  the  queen  of  the  hearth-side  ; 


UXDKR    THE    OLIVE. 

Bond  was  T,  scorned,  yet  the  mother, 
Queen  of  Hermione's  heart; 
Gazing  on  Hector  the  princely,  — 
Dead,  and  Andromache  weeping, 
Tears  were  not  mine!     Alas  deeper 
Lay  my  smart  and  my  pain. 

Hector,  my  brother  beloved ! 
Dear  to  me,  far  above  others, 
Here  on  thy  body  lamenting 
I,  too,  echo  thy  praise! 
Listen,  Andromache,  listen! 
Out  of  the  deepness  of  silence 
Calleth  a  voice  unto  thee: 

• 

'  Calm,  O  beloved,  O  dear  one, 
Calm  are  the  valleys  of  Orcus, 
Restful  the  streams  and  dim  alleys 
Shut  from  ihe  clamor  of  men  ; 
Restful  to  him  who  has  labored, 
Labored  and  loved  and  is  waiting,  — 
Waiting  to  hold  in  his  bosom 
Child  and  mother  again." 

Hear  me,  Andromache  ;  listen! 
This  is  for  thee,  but  for  Helen 


HELENA.  67 

All  is  voiceless  and  barren, 
Silent  the  valley  of  shades; 
Faded  her  joy  with  the  blossoms., 
Dead  on  the  heart  of  the  summer! 
Kypris,  goddess,  ah!  free  me, 
Slave  and  child  of  thy  will. 

Long  through  the  ages  I  suffered, 
Suffered  the  calling  of  lovers  ; 
Down  through  the  ages  I  followed, 
Won  by  the  bidding  of  Faust; 
Strong,  unsubdued,  and  immortal, 
I,  the  young  mother  of  Sparta, 
Stand  here   and   bring  ye   these  blos- 
soms, 
Fresh  as  the  children  of  spring. 

Down  to  the  ships  went  the  captives, 
Unwilling  procession  of  sorrow, 
Cassandra  behind  Agamemnon, 
Andromache  bound  with  the  rest. 
I,  Helen,  walked  with  my  husband  ; 
Level  my  glance  of  pure  azure, 
llosy  my  cheeks,  lest  the  Spartans 
Think  less  well  of  their  king. 


68  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Helen,  that  years  could  not  alter, 
Nor  bees  that  deflower  the  lilies,  — 
Helen,  child  of  immortals, 
Holding  the  reins  of  his  steed; 
Thus  through  the  gateway  of  Sparta, 
When  the  fires  of  Troy  were  extinguished, 
Proud  in  his  gladness  and  glory, 
Proudly  I  brought  them  their  king. 

One  sang,  "  Base  was  their  Helen;  " 

I,  standing  far  above  splendor, 

Calm  in  the  circle  of  godhead, 

Moved  not  by  striving  of  men, 

Heard  thus  Stesichorus  the  singer, 

Mad  raver,  a  poet,  a  mortal, 

While  the  gods  and  the  heroes  immortal 

Struck  the  perjurer  blind  with  their  glance. 

No  longer  he  seeth  where  beauty 
Abideth  untouched  of  the  earth-stained; 
No  more  shall  he  mark  in  her  coming 
Persephone's  noiseless  feet; 
No  more,  when  Helen  approacheth, 
Shall  he  know  the  star  of  her  forehead, 
And  Helen  the  false  shall  decoy  him 
With  wiles  and  tales  of  her  own. 


II  EL  EX  A.  09 

Lovers,  ah  lovers  inconstant  ! 

Ye  have  slain  but  the  form  and  the  semblance, 

Know  ye  your  Helen  has  vanished 

And  sleeps  on  a  hero's  breast. 

Hers  is  the  fire  undying, 

The  light  and  the  flame  of  the  singer, 

The  mariner's  lamp  and  his  beacon, 

His  harbor  of  home  and  his  rest. 

Half  proudly  ended  thus  the  queen  her  tale, 
And   ere   the   listener  knew   her   notes   were 

stilled 
Behold  another  singer  took  the  strain. 

This  other  was  a  youth  who  once  had  loved, 
Or  thought  he  loved,  a  maid  who  loved  him 

not, 

And  here  he  told  the  story  of  his  love, 
Which  was  not  love,  alas  !  the  lady  said; 
She  sat  and  sang  thus  to  him  in  the  dusk, 
And  still  at  dusk  he  ever  hears  her  song. 

"  'Twas  in  dim  ages  of  the  world; 
(The  tale  is  true,  too  true!) 
When  first  the  fires  of  passion  curled 


70  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

The  leaf-buds  of  the  heart,  and  whirled 
Their  ashes  to  the  blue. 

*'  In  Pian's  temple  danced  a  "child; 
(The  tale  is  true,  too  true!) 
Brave  Theseus  there,  with  passion  wild, 
Stole,  stole  away  the  dancing  child, 
(The  tale  no  more  is  new.) 

"Her  brothers  captured  her  again; 
(Too  old  the  tale,  too  old  !) 
She  w;is  their  joy,  she  was  their  pain, 
Of  Helen  was  their  only  strain; 
(Thus  is  the  old  tale  told.) 

"  The  king  of  Sparta  sought  her  hand; 
(Too  old  the  tale,  too  old  !) 
No  prince  her  beauty  could  withstand, 
Her  fame  was  spread  through  every  land; 
(The  tale  has  not  grown  cold.) 

"  The  king  of  Sparta  bore  her  home  ; 
(Too  true  the  tale,  too  true!) 
Through  his  vast  halls  her  footsteps  roam. 
And  hearts  are  glad  where'er  she  come; 
(O  yes,  the  tale  is  true  !) 


HELENA.  71 

"  Upon  Mount  Ida  there  was  one 
(The  tale  said)  feeding  sheep  ; 
The  goddess  whispered  him  alone, 
He  left  her  home  of  leaf  and  stone 
And  sought  the  clouded  deep. 

"  He  came  by  day  to  Sparta's  walls  ; 
(Ah  me!  where  was  the  king!) 
A  welcome  guest  throughout  the  halls, 
And  Helen,  the  fair  queen,  he  calls, 
Her  women  dainties  bring. 

"  Thou  shalt  away  with  me,  he  said  ; 
(In  the  tale,  he  whispered  low.) 
A  silver  veil  on  the  sea  was  spread, 
A  snowy  mantle  about  her  head  ; 
(Alas  !  he  whispered  low.) 

"  Silent  the  glimmering  statues  stand; 
(The  tale  has  all  come  true  !) 
Silent  the  lovely  Grecian  land, 
Speechless  the  softly  murmuring  sand, 
And  the  waves  the  ship  sailed  through. 

*•  What  is  fair,  if  false  be  fair! 
(The  tale  was  never  false.) 


72  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Never  hath  faded  the  golden  hair, 
Beauty  of  Helen  unchanged  and  rare, 
Not  false,  nor  faded,  nor  pale. 

"  Never  to  Troy  did  Helen  go  ; 
(Say,  canst  thou  read  the  song!) 
Never  unfaith  true  Helen  know; 
False  Helen!  Away!  She  is  white  as  snow, 
Helen  the  queen  of  my  song." 

The  low  mysterious  wail  wherewith  he  voiced 
The  mystery  of  his  singing  scarce  had  ceased, 
When  lo!  another  brought  a  little  plaint 
Of  love  and  death,  and  love  that  cannot  die. 

"  Ah,  lonely,  lonely  is  the  wide  blue  sea, 
And  lonely  are  the  summer  fields  at  noon, 
Yet  the  waves  dance,  and  the  fields  laugh  in 

glee, 
Though  nought  be  left  for  me! 

' '  Life  may  be  joy  to  such  as  know  not  love ! 
But  we  who  know,  know  that  our  joy  must  die, 
And  dying,  carry  onward,  far  above, 
The  light  by  which  we  move. 


QULENA.  73 

"  Love  is  not  less  that  may  not  all  be  seen  ; 
But,  watched  for  like  the  planet  of  the  dawn, 
It  beckons  us  behind  a  cloudy  screen, 
While  the  waves  roll  between." 

And  still  another  singer,  with  eyes  bent 
Afar,  as  on  that  beacon  light  he  gazed, 
Seen  by  the  warder  who,  for  ten  long  years, 
Swept  the  horizon  toward  the  Trojan  plains, 
Till  the  great  day  when  rising  into  heaven 
The  mountain   tops   rehearsed   the   flames   of 

Troy,  — 

Such  was  his  gaze,  as  one  who  knew  the  light 
Were  waiting  to  appear,  and  he  could  wait, 
Assured  of  victory  and  the  day  of  peace: 
And  thus  he  sang  his  song  of  Helena :  — 

"  I  follow  thee, 

Run  to  thee,  as  the  streamlet  to  the  main! 
What  green  repose  for  me !  m 
No  music  and  no  luring  sun  or  shade 
Can  still  the  heat  of  my  desire,  O  maid, 
Or  my  fond  heart  detain. 

41  Thou  lead'st  me  on! 
I.struggle  and  forever  I  aspire, 


74  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

Till  days  and  years  be  done. 
After  thy  feet  how  beautiful  the  vales! 
How  beautiful,  beyond  Arabian  tales, 
Apollo's  golden  fire! 

"  I  grasp,  I  fail ! 

I  cannot  seize  the  crystal  cup  she  holds; 
I  hear  her  sweet  '  All  hail! ' 
Then  faint   and  fall,  and    senseless  lie   and 

blind, 

Till  waking,  but  her  empty  robe  I  find, 
Which  my  weak  arm  enfolds." 

Impatient  for  the  end  then  lastly  spake 
A  carver  in  his  pride:  4i  Better  than  all 
Your  shifting  notes  of  love  that  cannot  die 
The  marble  where  the  form  of  truth  endures. 
There  shall  man's  eye  forever  see  her  shape 
Uplifted  to  the  gaze  of  hurrying  crowds 
Who  press  down  toward  the  ships  to  see  her 

pass ; 

Not  of  the  weeping  company  of  those 
Who  follow  at  the  conqueror's  nod  is  she, 
But  with  eyes  downward  bent  and  reddening 

blush 


HELENA.  75 

She  walks,  revolving  many  a  sombre  thought. 
Then,  in  his  house  of  wood,  with  flaxen  sails, 
She  floats  a  queen  across  the  fateful  seas, 
Until  the  king  restore  her  to  her  home. 
Thus  ever  to  the  future  Helen  stands, 
Carven  triumphant  in  her  chariot, 
Entering  anew  the  unbarred  Spartan  gates."  1 

He  ceased;   but  as  the  fluttering  swallows  meet 
In  earliest  autumn  near  some  cove,  nor  hear 
Nor  see  intruders,  learning  busily 
Their  future,  or  rehearsing  happy  days, 
Twittering  of  joys  remembered  ere  they  go 
Into  the  silence,  whither  we  know  not! 
So  did  this  murmuring  ring  of  singers  fail, 
Perchance,  to  hear  the  carver,  but  still  sang, 
In  music  half  unheard  for  falling  leaves, 
Of  Helen,  Helen,  Helen,  through  the  dale, 
And  Helen,  Helen,  Helen,  on  the  hills, 
Till  with  the  winds  the  undying  murmur  slept. 

1  See  bas-relief  in  the  Campana  Museum. 


HERAKLES. 


HERAKLES. 


HORNING' S     blue    heaven    wherein 

birds  rest  and  float 
And  rise  to  levels  of  new  life !  a  note 
Of  joy  dropping  by  chance  as  in  a 

dream 

To  one  who  wanders  by  a  sunlit  stream, 
And  heard  by  him  as  he  who  waits  and  hears 
At  length,  amid  the  falling  of  his  tears, 
The   voice   of   love ;    and   while   his  heart   is 

strained 

To  bear  joy's  fullness,  even  then  is  pained 
By  the  loud  moaning  of  prophetic  seas, 
Drowning  the  pleasant  laughter  of  the  trees, 
And  weaving  in  his"  bliss  a  thread  of  woe; 
Such  is  our  day,  such  is  our  morning  hour! 
A.  gladness   none   can    measure,  heaven   must 

know; 
A  sadness  that  no  season  and  no  balin 


80  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

May  heal,  nor  sun  that  follows  any  shower  ; 
Nor,  after  tempest,  the  great  golden  calm. 

Nothing  may  heal  save  the  unaided  might 
Of  him  who  scorns  not  labor;  he  who  bears 
Scorn  unto  labor  ever  shall  be  slave; 
But  he  who  finds  no  dark  in  labor's  night 
He   shall   be  king,  and    the    bright  crown   he 

wears 
Will   shine   with    stars    above   the    sluggard's 

grave  

Herakles,  brother  of  men  and  child  of  Jove, 
Greatened  apace;  his  beauty  was  a  strength 
And  his  strength  beauty;  and  the  spirit  of  rest 
Loved  to  alight  upon  his  shining  brow. 
But  chiefly  on  his  lips  arrl  forehead  shone 
Endeavor,  and  a  wish  to  succor  all, 
And  his  were  hands  to  grasp  and  hold  at  need. 
When  through  Nemean  woods  the  lion  raged 
Shouted  the  people,  "  Bring  us  Herakles, 
He  only  may  deliver  the  race  of  men." 

Prometheus  from  his  place  in  Hades  heard 
That  cry,  and  like  a  last  keen  vulture  shaft, 


HERAKLES.  81 

Keenest  of  all,  his  wounds  it  tore  afresh: 
"  Have  I  not  also  served  this  mortal  race," 
He  cried;  "  I,  bearer  of  the  torch,  who  gave 
Light  and  deliverance  from  the  hate  of  Jove. 
Why  am  I  thus  forgot!     Why  do  they  cry, 
And  Herakles  their  sole  deliverer  call! 
Why  do  they  love  me  not,  nor  give  me  room, 
As  highest  good  and  therefore  highest  god; 
Why  amid  shadows  must  I  ever  stray, 
When  I  have  loved  and  labored  among  men  ! 
And  now   the  fickle  race,  for  whom,  through 

years 

Uncounted,  I  more  pangs  than  mortals  have 
Endured  within  this  frame  of  godlike  mould, 
Cries  out  to  Herakles,  nor  thinks  again 
On  him  who  raised  and  made  them  what  they 

are." 

This,  with  an  ear  bent  ever  to  the  ills 
Of  others,  heard  and  answered  Herakles  : 

"  Prometheus,  my  brother!     Thou  who  hast 
The  temper  and  the  nature  of  a  god, 
Heed   thou   my   counsel   who    have    felt    thy 
pain! 


82  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

11  First  in  the  courts  of  heaven  and  fields  of 

earth 
One  king  may  reign,  —  one  only  !     Nor  may 

gods, 
Doing  great  deeds,  think  that  themselves  are 

king; 

But,  doing  greatly,  thus  may  learn  how  great 
The  father  Jove,  who  may  transcend  in  all 
What  all  have  done.     He  may  delay  to  send 
Fire  on  earth,  yet  fire  was  his  to  send, 
And  thou  didst  steal  it.     Thou  didst  waken 

earth 

From  morning  into  day,  from  child  to  man, 
From  dream  to  action,  while  the  Lord  of  heaven 
Lingered  to  watch  his  children  at  their  play. 
Then  wert  thou  punished,  and  to  me  remained 
To  help  the  children  in  their  tasks  and  toils, 
The  new-born  labors  of  these  later  days. 
But,  now  again,  the  Lord  demands  of  thee 
To  render  up  the  secret  thou  hast  learned, 
Or  else  return  to  suffer;  what  thou  hast  heard 
By  earth's  new-kindled  fires  that  should'st  thou 

give 

Into  Jove's  keeping,  lest  insurgent  man, 
Joined  by  thine  aid  with  the  insurgent  gods, 


HERAXLES.  S3 

Bring  death  to  earth  and  anarchy  to  heaven. 
Lo  !  while  I  speak  the  dreadful  Caucasus 
Again  awaits  thy  coming,  and  the  dark  bird 
Of  death  sharpens  for  thee  afresh  his  beak. 
My  brother,  O  my  brother,  thou  must  go! 
But  I  will  follow  thee  and  watch  thy  pangs, 
More  dreaded  than  to  bear  them,  till  I  hear 
Wrought,  not  by  all  these  centuries  of  pain, 
But  by  the  light  of  truth  I  bring  to  thee, 
And  by  the  love  I  ever  bear  to  thee, 
Until  I  hear  thee  whisper,  '  It  is  done  ; 
The  will  I  cherish,  lo!  is  cherished  first 
In  the  vast  cradle  of  obedience,  — 
Obedience  to  law,  and  to  his  name 
Who  stands  and  holds  the  law  within  his  hand/ 
Then  with  a  mighty  joy  this  might  of  strength 
To  quicken,  and,  with  a  blow  sharpened  by  all 
Thy  pain,  I  smite  the  gorging  vulture  dead. 

"  Behold!  I  hear  the  voice  of  Jove  in  heaven  ! 
Perchance,  if  one  could  hear  thee  say,  '  'Tis 

well, 

Obedience  in  a  god  is  god-like.     Lo! 
My  sin  and  weakness  sting  me  deeper  now 
Than  doth  the  vulture ;  now  at  last  I  learn 


84  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

He  shall  be  greatest  who  shall  know  one  law 
Governs  each  moving  star  and  the  courts  of 

Jove; 

And  who  would  stay  one  planet  in  his  flight, 
By  the  delaying  of  that  car,  is  flung 
Into  eternal  dark  and  boundless  space, 
Where  nor  his  name  nor  fame  lives  evermore.' 
Perchance,  O  brother,  if  thy  heart  should  now 
Thus  whisper  unto  mine,  the  infinite  Love 
Would  give  thee  peace  and  bid  thee  come  up 

higher. 

Lo  !  now  I  hear  the  music  of  the  courts  ! 
Bend  tjiou  thine  ear,  and,  listening,  bow  thy 

will." 

"  Heaven  is  their  home, 
But  dark  is  the  passing, 
And  half-gods  are  many, 
Who  climb  to  the  sheep-fold, 
Nor  follow  my  teaching. 

«'  Sorrowful  fate ! 
Prometheus  the  daring, 
Hiding  his  counsels. 
Scorning  obedience, 
Anarchy 's  nursling  1 


HERAKLES.  85 

"Bitter  his  fate  ! 
I,  Jove,  the  ruler, 
May  not  subdue  him; 
Yet  there  remaineth 
Still  my  forgiveness. 

'*  Conquered  at  last 
By  love  and  by  longing, 
By  Herakles'  striving,  — • 
His  greatest  of  labors,  — 
Thus  the  night  endeth. 

"Gods  hold  him  fast! 
Gird  ye  his  armor, 
Sharpen  the  arrow, 
Speed  to  its  hiding 
In  the  heart  of  the  vulture." 

"  The  music  of  the  upper  world  is  borne 

Like  a  vast  light  which  points  me  out  the  way; 

Nor  syllables  nor  voices  do  I  hear; 

But  as  the  flight  of  fiery  orbs  through  space 

Makes  music  in  the  heavens,  so  do  I  see 

A  light  which  is  all  melody,  and  hear 

A  voice  unfolding  clear  the  higher  path. 


86  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

"  Twelve  mighty  labors  have  these  hands  per- 
formed 

Lest  the  night  come  and  find  no  trace  of  good, 
No  difficult  way  made  easier  to  the  feet, 
Because  these  days  have  been,  and  this  hard  life. 
But  now  past  toils  are  all  as  nought  to  me, 
Who,    climbing   still   new   heights,  must    still 
aspire ; 

0  father,  give  me  power  to  save  thy  child ! 
What  were  all  other  joy  compared  to  this! 
What  were  all  other  victories,  and  what 
All  other  labor,  if  the  endless  nights 

Be  counted,  and  the  darkened  dreadful  days 
Beside  that  sickening  couch  on  the  unveiled 
mount. 

1  go,  I  go,  O  guard  and  strengthen  me; 
Behold  all  fear  is  past,  all  sense  of  pain, 
Save  the  divine  unrest,  the  ceaseless  flight 
Of  spirit  winging  toward  the  eternal  peace." 

VOICE  FROM  ON  HIGH. 

Since  on  earth  there  is  prayer  and  desire, 
And  the  love  of  a  brother  mounteth  higher 
Than  flames  or  than  temples  and  towers, 
And  fairer  than  fanes  or  than  flowers; 


HERAKLES  87 

In  the  court  of  my  temple  immortal, 
And  sheltered  within  the  bright  portal, 
Prometheus,  the  god-like,  forgiven, 
Is  seeking  the  service  of  heaven. 

And  rescued  afar  in  his  dying, 
For  new  griefs  of  men  and  their  sighing, 
Comes  Herakles,  he  who  delivers; 
The  son  of  the  gods,  who  are  givers. 

On  the  right  hand  of  majesty  seated, 
Crowned  with  grace  of  his  labors  completed, 
As  one  who  but  now  were  beginning 
To  succor  earth's  children  from  sinning; 

He  follows  their  feet  in  their  failing, 
He  stills  their  wild  cries  and  their  wailing, 
And  leaves  the  bright  trail  of  his  story 
To  lead  their  sad  hearts  unto  glory. 


ARTEMIS. 


ARTEMIS. 


YER  dusky  fields  afar, 
Guided  by  the  shepherd  star, 
When  the  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest, 
And  birds  are  hurrying  toward 

their  nest,  — 

See  athwart  the  silvery  night 
Where  Artemis  pursues  her  flight. 

Goddess  of  the  shining  bow, 
Teach  my  willing  feet  to  know 
Paths  across  thy  woodland  glen 
Where  thou  shun'st  the  face  of  men; 
Yet  where  thou  call'st  thy  love  to  thee, 
However  far  his  feet  may  be  ! 
Night  can  wear  no  pall  so  dark 
To  hide  from  him  thy  glistering  mark ; 


92  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Nor  the  cavern's  deepest  shade 
Ever  shall  make  him  afraid  : 
His  lowly,  glad,  persistent  tread 
Follows  where  thy  footsteps  lead. 

Troops  of  maidens  thee  attend, 
Thou,  their  earliest,  truest  friend  ! 
Beckoning  them  through  dawn  and  dew 
Where  the  world  is  ever  new. 
Encompassed  is  thy  form  by  them, 
As  the  gold  enspheres  the  gem. 
In  the  noontide's  fiery  glow 
Limbs  they  stretch  of  purest  snow, 
Where  the  beechen  branches  cool 
Shadow  some  white-lilied  pool. 
But  if  rude  feet  profane  the  way, 
Or  curious  eyes  unloving  stray, 
Darkly  plotting  that  to  find 
Which  shall  please  the  baser  mind, 
Thou  shalt  bid  his  form  to  wear, 
Actaeon-like,  the  horns  and  hair. 

But  for  him  who  is  thy  love 
Untold  joys  are  thine  to  prove  ; 
Unto  him  thy  maidens  give 


ARTEMIS. 

Mountain-honey  from  the  hive, 
And  the  sacred  draught  that  falls 
Down  from  icy  cavern  walls; 
Thou  dost  lull  his  limbs  to  rest 
With  music  from  thy  mother's  breast; 
Waters  round  thy  dreadful  steep 
Murmur  ever  through  his  sleep, 
That  he  may  wake  and  smile  to  know 
Thine  the  harmonious  ebb  and  flow. 

When  the  sun  this  darksome  frame 
Touches  first  wifh  spear  of  flame, 
Bidding  beacon  lights  expire, 
And  night  to  die  on  peaks  of  fire, 
Artemis  calls  her  lover  then 
From  the  dusty  haunts  of  men. 
Swift  from  his  couch  he  seeks  her  side, 
With  kindling  glance  and  joyous  pride, 
But  stoops  to  bathe  him  in  the  stream 
That  gurgled  in  his  vanished  dream. 
Lo  !  ere  he  rises  she  is  gone  ! 
All  her  trooping  maidens  flown  ! 
Now  he  searcheth  far  and  near, 
Up  and  down  this  grassy  sphere; 
Hearing  now  her  jocund  horn 


94  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

And  following,  till  at  length  forlorn, 
Fain  would  he  rest  his  limbs  and  sink 
Drowsy  on  some  mossy  brink. 
There  through  the  still  noontide  hour, 
Calming  every  restless  power, 
Artemis  herself  shall  brood, 
Unseen  genius  of  the  wood. 

Happy  sleeper  who  can  rest 
Thus  on  the  great  mother's  breast ! 
While  the  ripening  apple-bough 
Shadows  thy  earth-weary  brow, 
And,  ere  Morpheus  venture  nigh, 
Can  see  above  the  tender  sky, 
Through  green  tracery  gazing  down, 
Fairer  than  night  with  gem  and  crown. 
And  what  waking  bliss  is  thine ! 
Hid  behind  yon  skirting  pine, 
Thou  canst  seem  to  see  her  move, 
Mighty  goddess  of  thy  love  ! 
Up  and  away  !     New  strength  succeeds 
She  beckons  thee  to  dewy  meads, 
And  where  children  love  to  dwell, 
Healed  by  her  balsamic  spell ; 
Or,  perchance,  to  some  dim  nook 


ARTEMIS.  95 

By  the  feet  of  man  forsook, 
Where  the  fount  of  song  doth  run, 
Undiscovered  of  the  sun ; 
There  she  bids  thee  drink,  and  learn 
Henceforward  when  the  lilies  burn, 
Or  when  first  her  paths  are  green, 
Or  latest  fruit  in  orchard  seen, 
Thou,  her  worshipper,  may'st  bring 
Dearer  songs  than  woodbirds  sing. 

Still  thou  shalt  not  see  her  face, 

Tireless  and  brave  howe'er  thy  chase; 

Strange  the  way  her  steps  may  lure, 

Yet  many  sorrows  she  will  cure, 

If  thou  ever  faithful  seek 

Though  the  fainting  sense  grow  weak. 

Canst  thou  not,  O  lover,  twine 
Remembering  garlands  of  the  vine, 
And  hang  them  on  an  altar  where 
They  who  pant  for  heaven's  air 
May  see  them,  and  may  follow  her, 
When  thou  art  past,  her  worshipper! 
Weave  the  olive  and  the  grape, 
And  after  mould  their  faultless  shape 


96  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Worthy  of  her;  then,  for  my  sake, 

Weave  fern  and  bayberry,  and  the  brier  take, 

That  I  may  know  she  will  not  fail 

To  find  me  in  my  woodland  pale. 

Lover,  do  this,  and  wintry  storm 
Never  shall  despoil  their  form  1 
Thought  and  memory  shall  shoot 
Issues'  from  their  living  root. 
Thus  these  garlands  of  thy  verse 
Other  lovers  may  rehearse. 


ANTINOUS. 


ANTINOUS. 


TRETCHED  on   the   happy  fields 

that  view  the  sea, 
Pillowed    on    beds   of    cyclamen. 

violet,  rosemary, 
Or  treading  with  cool  feet  the  balmy  herb, 
Freely  I  drink  the  morning  and  high  noon, 
And  couch  above  the  kine  at  eventide. 

"  The  perfect  blossom  of  the  fig  has  fallen, 
The  perfect  rounding  of  the  fruit  succeeds! 
How  lately  have  I  seen  a  grain  of  corn 
Laid  lightly  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  and 

now 
The  sheaf  stands  high  as  stands  this  pillared 

throat ! 

Above  the  gleam  and  clash  of  lusty  spears, 
And    swaying    downward   with    the   oak-tree 

branch, 


100  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Like  a  white  lyre  of  ivory  played  upon 
By  heaven-sent  airs,  I  float  and  rest  and  live. 
Far  rather  this  than  music  of  the  feast 
Sung  by  the  white-robed  boys  to  carven  lute; 
Far  rather,  lying  on  the  springing  grass, 
To  breathe  and  listen  to  the  braided  notes 
From  gardens  ripening  now  toward  their  de- 
cay. 
My  rounding   limbs    thus    seem  to  grow  and 

curve 

Into  more  perfect  life;  these  eyes  to  swim 
With  languor  born  of  music;  and  these  silent 

lips 
To  rest  in  joys  beyond  the  realm  of  thought. 

"  Here  in  these  fields  are  heard  the  harmonies 
Born  ere  the  listening  ear  of  man  was  frame, 1; 
And  ever  still  the  melody  survives, 
Though  the  fields  bloom  and  die,  and  none  may 

know. 

For  man  who  thinketh  not  on  days  to  come, 
How  shall  he  love  to  quit  the  busy  mart, 
And  all  the  works  and  ways  of  other  men, 
And  listen  to  the  voices  of  the  gods  ! 
He  cannot  think  this  glory  is  for  him, 


ANTING  US.  .         101 

Which  rose  before  his  morrow,  and  after  his 

day 
Shall  still  endure  when  he  is  lost  in  night. 

"  But  I  —  't  is  mine  to  hear  the  spheral  notes 
Borne  by  the  winds  across  the  sleeping  seas,, 
The  messengers  of  Love  to  me,  his  child ; 
They  rest  amid  the  trees,  and  fragrant  thence 
Call  to  me  with  each  little  breeze  at  noon; 
Or  on  the  tempest  ride  with  dreadful  tones, 
Speaking  the  will  of  Him  who  works  our  good. 
And  ever,  in  each  form,  the  leaf,  the  bud, 
The  fruit,  the  flower,  there  sleeps  the  hidden 

voice, 

Which  I  would  lie  unmoved  and  listening  hear 
Clothed  thus  with  youth,  watching  the  eager 

bee, 
Half  drowned  in  his  own  bliss,  while  sleepy 

birds 
Are  calling  drowsily  in  the  summer  noon. 

"  Yet  do  I  feel  't  were  sweeter  far  to  die 
And  give  this  little  life  for  one  we  love ! 
What  joy  with  this  great  joy  can  be  compare:!; 
Poor,  to  give  infinite  riches  to  our  love! 


102  UNDER  TEE  OLIVE. 

More  sacred  and  more  beautiful  than  all 
Wealth  of  the  East  or  glories  of  the  West, 
This    life   which   is    all    the  East  and    all  the 

West. 

The  jewel  of  my  youth  is  mine  to  give; 
Behold  1  bend  me  to  the  yellow  stream, 
And  offer  up  this  gift  to  my  beloved." 

Thus  in  those  far  off  ages  of  the  world 
The  waters  parted  and  the  deep  received 
Into  its  untried  bosom  this  young  life; 
Nor  yet  the  morning  sun  of  Galilee 
On  valley  and  mount  greeted  the  waking  eye. 
He  nothing  knew,  save  that  his  life  was  sweet 
And  death  was  bitter,  —  save  that  one  he  loved 
The  gods  had   said  must  part  from  this  fair 

youth, 

His  chosen  joy,  ere  Hadrian's  fame  he  won. 
WThat  were  love  worth,  if  love  could  not  lay 

down 

Fairest  possession  for  the  one  beloved ! 
Therefore  he  clove  the  darksome  wave  and 

sank 
Never  again  to  breathe  this  summer  air. 


ANTING  US.  103 

Lo  the  swift  river  of:  time  that  ever  sweeps 
Emperors  and  cities,  monuments  and  kings, 
Loveliness,  luxury,  and  all  earthly  joys 
Down  to  the  black  gulf  of  oblivion,  — 
Has  safely  brought  these  beautiful  white  limbs, 
Fair  crowned  head,  and  tender  dreaming  eyes 
Back  to  our  gaze,  and  the  story  of  his  fate. 
He  could  not  know  Love,  the  immortal  child, 
Would  put  his  arms  about  him  and  so  keep 
Undimmed  the  lofty  beauty  of  his  youth! 
Vast  cities,  built  to  shrine  his  memory, 
Have  vanished  in  the  stream;  only  remains 
The  undying  vision  of  Antinous, 
Who  knew  the  gift  he  gave  was  great  indeed. 


ACHILLES. 


ACHILLES. 


O  !  in  the  dawn  of  the  morning  the 

funeral  pyre, 
That    all    ni<;ht    long    bore   to    the 

heaven  of  desire 
Prayers  of^Achilles,  smiting  with  black- winged 

smoke 
Purple  summits  of  Jove,  loftier  than  towering 

oak,  — 
Lo!   when  the  morning  broke  into  roses,  wave 

upon  wave, 

Only  a  smouldering  ash  lay  white  on  Patroklos' 
grave. 

Then  the  hero  Achilles,  wearing  pale  sorrow's 

crown, 
Slept  in  the  brightening  dawn ;  and  there  where 

he  lay  down, 


108  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Covering  his  face,  came  in  a  dream  the  form 

of  his  friend 
Bending  over  him,  as  in  the  past  he  was  wont 

to  bend, 
But  in  his  hand  those  tawny  curls  untouched 

of  the  flame, 
Signal  of  love  and  of  death,  signal  of  life  and 

of  fame. 

Sorrow,  the  mother  and  teacher,  what  can  she 

do  for  earth's  child! 
Lover  of  pleasure!  thy  morning  was  fair  and 

thy  sheaves  were  piled! 
Youth  was   dear,  and  dear  was   summer  and 

pride  of  strength, 

High  has  he  builded  the  altar,  all  have  van- 
ished at  length. 
Loved  was  he  of  the  gods,  yet  his  people  were 

exiled  in  vain ; 
Wisdom  was  his,  and  he  knew  giving  of  life 

was  death's  gain. 
Why  then  should   he   yield   the  sweetness  of 

days  to  walk  with  the  shades! 
Fairer  to  wander  in  woodlands,  where  shadow 

with  sunshine  braids; 


ACHILLES.  109 

Better  to  join  in  the  games,  and  rest  in  a  white- 
walled  tent, 

Than  live  in  the  dust  of  battles  till  youth  be 
spent. 

Yet  was  there  one  who  was  dearer  to  him  than 
the  days,  — 

One  who  suffered  for  those  who  suffer  in  dark- 
ened ways,  — 

One  who  prayed  to  his  friend,  ll  Leave  thy  in- 
glorious rest ; 

Strive  and  conquer,  strive  and  fail,  to  strive  is 
the  best," 

Achilles  listened,  then  answered  with  laughter 
loud: 

"  Go,  I  will  watch  thee  conquer  the  slavish 
crowd ; 

All  the  spoils  and  all  the  glory  gladly  be  thine, 

I  will  stay  in  my  tent  and  pledge  thee  in  wine." 

"  What,"  he  murmured,  "  is  life  but  the  rising 

and  setting  of  suns! 
Why  should  we  struggle  and  fret  when  gayly 

the  streamlet  runs ! 


110  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

What  is  glory  but  noise  and  death,  and  a  faded 

wreath ! 
Why  for  a  shadow  give  to  the  shades  this  sweet 

young  breath!" 

Glory  ye  could  not  decoy  him,  nor  white- 
winged  fame! 

Hero  of  heroes,  he  fought  neither  for  life  nor 
for  name; 

Only  the  face  of  his  dear  dead  friend,  of  Pa- 
troklos  his  own, 

Out  of  the  land  of  shadows  forever  beckoned 
him  on. 

"  Watch,  my  beloved,"  the  hero  cried,  "  and 
listen  for  me ! 

Lean  from  thy  darkened  shore  over  the  rest- 
less sea! 

Hear  the  trampling  of  horses,  hear  the  victo- 
rious shout, 

See  the  white  fires  of  Troy,  and  the  dust  and 
the  rout! 

Music  unto  thine  ear  sweeter  than  pipe  or  than 
flute, 


ACHILLES.  Ill 

When  the  towers  crackle  in  flame  and  the  peo- 
ple grow  mute! 

Listen,  beloved,  again,  and  lean  from  thy 
shore ! 

Hear  thou  the  chariot  and  horses  drive  o'er 
the  darkened  floor! 

Down  to  the  kingdom  they  hasten,  where  thou 
art  waiting  alone,  — 

Waiting  these  wreaths  that  I  bear  to  tell  thee 
thy  labor  is  done." 


APHRODITE   OF  MELOS. 


APHRODITE   OF   MELOS. 


AR  had  I  wandered  from  this  north- 
ern shore, 
Far  from  the  bare   heights  and  the 

wintry  seas, 
Dreaming  of  these 
No  more. 

Soft  was  the  vale, 

And  silver-pointed  were  the  olive-trees; 
And  pale,  how  pale  ! 
Narcissus  and  the  tall  anemones; 
Where  should  I  choose 
To  lay  me  down  and  rest! 
Where  to  unloose 
The  sandals  from  my  feet! 
For  all  was  sweet. 
But  lo!  a  dusky  cave, 

Where  no   faint  breeze  bade  even  the  aspen 
wave, 


116  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Unvisited  of  the  sun, 

Unhaunted  by  earth's  labor  never  done, 

Offered  me  her  calm  breast. 

There  entering,  I  espied 

The  flowery  bed 

Where  Pan  had  lain  his  head : 

'T  was  as  if  Ocean  swept  a  snow-white  billow 

Thitherward  for  his  pillow ! 

So  drifted,  side  by  side, 

Lay  the  dim  crocus  and  the  lily  bell. 

He,  the  god,  had  gone! 
Long  ago  dead  and  gone! 
But  near  where  he  had  lain, 
Above  his  head, 
There  stood  the  marble  form 
Of  Aphrodite  the  victorious ; 
Safe  from  all  storm, 
Safe  from  earth's  pain, 
Supreme  and  glorious! 

Fearful   1  gazed,  then   whispered,    "  Sleep   is 

fled! 
Why  did  she  vanish  not  with  the  ancient  world, 


APHRODITE  OF  ME  LOS.  117 

Where  love  and  beauty  lie  with  garlands  furled, 
Floating  together  down  oblivion's  tide! 
How  useless  are  they  all,  what  joy  or  pride 
Lives  now  for  us  in  antique  god  or  fane!  " 

Long,  long  I  gazed  upon  that  wondrous  shape  ; 

I  could  not  sleep,  she  would  not  let  me  stay, 

But  ever  whispered  to  my  soul,  "  Away, 

New  heights  for  thee  to  climb  ; 

Linger  not  thus  to  ape 

The  longing  and  the  honey-dropping  tones 

Of  that  forgotten  time! 

*'  I  bid  my  lover  flee 

Back  to  those  shores  where   moments  fill  the 

hours, 

And  hours  the  day;  by  his  bold  sea, 
Never  shall  he  forget 
When  first  we  met. 
To  fill  the  measure  of  my  lofty  pride, 
He  shall  stretch  unknown  powers  ; 
And  when  he  dreams  that  I  would  smile  on 

him, 

Let  him  pursue  his  way, 
Farther  and  farther  up  the  mountain  side, 


118  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Until  with'  labor  every  sense  grows  dim> 
Then   as   from   some   strange   dream  he  shall 

awake, 

To  find  the  rolling  sphere 
Beneath  my  feet ; 
The  past  and  present  here 
Mingled  as  one; 
And  he  shall  slake 
His  living  endless  thirst 
At  fountains  where  no  restless  billows  moan. 

"  This  latest;  first, 

The  dawning  mist,  and  then  the  happy  sun. 

Thou,  O  my  lover,  with  longing  shalt  not  greet, 

Nor  think  a  sister  unto  me, 

That  young   sweet  -woman    stepping  from  the 

bath, 

Nor  she  who  holds  a  mirror  to  her  face, 
Nor  that  fair  creature  feigning  modesty.     • 

"  There  is  another  path. 
Why  dnlst  thou  find  me  in  my  hiding-place, 
And  knowing  nothing,  fall  and  worship  here, 
As  great  men  worshipped  in  the  vanished  time, 
Tf  thou  wert  not  my  chosen,  set  apart, 
Guiltless  of  fear  1 


APHRODITE  OF  ME  LOS.  119 

"  Fold,  therefore,  close  within  thine  heart 
The  secret  I  shall  give  thee  :  know,  thus  far, 
All  men  have  sought  in  vain  my  lineage  and 

my  birth; 

But,  as  on  sunny  afternoons  there  lie 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  heavens'  blue  sea, 
Mountains  of  cloud  thoughts  climb,  scaling  the 

sky, 
Beautiful   and    impalpable,   and   remote   from 

earth, 

Keen,  unattainable,  crowned  with  white  fire; 
So  shall  it  be  with  thee! 
The  footless  fancy  ever  climbeth  higher 
Than  when  the  senses  prey 
Upon  her  sweet  companionship; 
Thou  hast  a  vision  from  thy  mountain  top 
Built  all  of  cloud,  which  shall  not  waste  nor 

slip 

Into  the  waters  of  forgetfulness ; 
Such  is  thy  bliss  I 

Nor,  till  the  unending  flight  of  rivers  stop 
Their  journeys  to  the  main, 
Shall  my  love  cease  to  be  thy  midnight  star." 

She  is  dumb,  no  longer  a  voice, 
Only  a  presence  is  she ! 


120  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Beautiful  presence  ever  remain, 
Lifting  me, 

Holding  me  true  to  my  choice! 
Standing  unmoved, 

Glad  with  a  joy  supreme  which  cannot  pale, 
Proud  in  the  love  supreme  which  struggles  and 
will  not  fail ! 

Welcome  the  winter  wind  ! 

The  barren  shore  and  the  bleak  blowing  sands  1 

Ye  who  bid  the  spirit  his  armor  bind, 

I  follow  ye ! 

Break  and  cast  away  these  nerveless  bands, 

Bid  me  strive  till  all  striving  cease, 

And  I  find  my  love  I 

She  who  waiteth  the  conquering  one, 

Him  whose  labor  is  never  done, 

Till  sorrow  no  longer  call, 

Nor  on  his  ear  the  music  of  waters  fall. 


THEOCRITUS. 


THEOCRITUS. 

Y  !     Unto  thee  belong 

The  pipe  and  song, 

Theocritus,  — 

Loved  by  the  satyr  and  the  faun  I 
To  thee  the  olive  and  the  viiie, 
To  thee  the  Mediterranean  pine, 
And  the  soft  lapping  sea! 
Thine,  Bacchus, 
Thine,  the  blood-red  revels, 
Thine,  the  bearded  goat! 
Soft  valleys  unto  thee, 
And  Aphrodite's  shrine, 
And  maidens  veiled  in  falling  robes  of  lawn! 
But  unto  us,  to  us, 
The  stalwart  glories  of  the  North; 
Ours  is  the  sounding  main, 
And  ours  the  voices  uttering  forth 
By  midnight  round  these  cliffs  a  mighty  strain; 
A  tale  of  viewless  islands  in  the  deep 


124  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Washed  by  the  waves'  white  fire; 

Of  mariners  rocked  asleep 

In  the  great  cradle,  far  from  Grecian  ire 

Of  Neptune  and  his  train ; 

To  us,  to  us, 

The  dark-leaved  shadow  and  the  shining  birch, 

The  flight  of   gold  through  hollow  woodlands 

driven, 

Soft  dying  of  the  year  with  many  a  sigh, 
These,  all,  to  us  are  given ! 
And  eyes  that  eager  evermore  shall  search 
The  hidden  seed,  and  searching  find  again 
Unfading  blossoms  of  a  fadeless  spring; 
These,  these,  to  us! 
The  sacred  youth  and  maid, 
Coy  and  half  afraid ; 
The  sorrowful  earthly  pall, 
Winter  and  wintry  rain, 
And  Autumn's  gathered  grain, 
With  whispering  music  in  their  fall; 
These  unto  us! 
And  unto  thee,  Theocritus, 
To  thee, 

The  immortal  childhood  of  tho,  world, 
The  laughing  waters  of  an  in'and  sea, 
And  beckoning  signal  of  a  sail  unfurled! 


AT  THE   FOKGE. 


AT  THE  FORGE. 


O!  lull  yourselves 

In    sweet   illusions   of   the  summer 

fields, 

Ye  children  of  Pandora;  rock  be- 
neath 

Old  apple  boughs  and  listen  to  the  waves, 
The  same  that  jEscbylus  and  Alcasus  heard, 
And  later  brethren  of  the  sinking  band  ; 
Where  they  have  gone,  perchance  your  sum- 
mers go, 

And  in  the  stainless  blue  of  the  past  days 
May  dwell  together  in  some  leafy  waste. 

I  am  Hephaistos,  and  forever  here 
Stand  at  the  forge  and  labor,  while  I  dream 
Of  those  who  labor  not  and  are  not  lame. 
I  hear  the  early  and  the  late  birds  call, 


128  UNDER  THE    OLIVE. 

Hear  winter  whisper  to  the  coming  spring, 
And  watch  the  feet  of  summer  dancing  light 
For  joy  across  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Labor  endures,  but  all  of  these  must  pass! 
And  ye  who  love  them  best,  nor  are  condemned 
To  beat  the  anvil  through  the  summer  day, 
May  learn  the  secret  of  their  sudden  flight; 
No  mortal  tongue  may  whisper  where  they  hide, 
But  to  her  love,  half  nestled  in  the  grass, 
Earth  has  been  known  to  whisper  low  yet  clear 
Strange  consolation  for  the  wintry  days. 
O  listen  then  ye  singers!  learn  and  tell 
Those  who  must  labor  by  the  dusty  wayl 


ELEGY   TO   DAPHNIS. 


ELEGY  TO  DAPHNIS. 


ON  A   BAS-RELIEF   IN    THE   FLORENTINE   MU- 
SEUM. 

HE  shepherd  fleeth  not  and  hath  no 

fear, 

He  lifteth  slowly  up  his  languid  gaze, 
The  dancing  phantom  surely  draw- 
eth  near! 

But  still  his  pleasant  pipe  the  shepherd  plays; 
Death  cannot  choose,  the  pipe  and  he  are  one, 
The  fields  elysian  will  but  mend  the  tone. 

Brief  ceasing  of  the  music  may  perchance 
Succeed,  and  Silence  place  the  double  flute 
Between  his  folded  hands,  and  rest  enhance 
The  joy  which  holier  melodies  shall  suit; 
Therefore  the  fleeting  shepherd  playeth  on, 
Though  death  soon   bid   the   merry  sound  be 
done- 


132  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Unstirred    the   shepherd's   heart,  for   are  not 

fields 

Fresh-blooming  ever  dear  to  childlike  eyes, 
Ere   yet   one   thought  of   youth   to   manhood 

yields, 

Or  earth's  ambition  veil  those  happier  skies  ! 
Our  budding  fields  must  fade  and  man  decay ! 
Thou    shalt  waste    not   but  in  fresh  meadows 

stray. 

O  marble  shepherd  !  happy  evermore 
Thus  with  thy  pipe  to  keep  remembrance  true, 
To  that  far  time  and  the  far  golden  shore, 
When  sleep   or   death,  twin   children,  gently 

drew 

Thee  to  lie  down  in  peace  in  their  embrace, 
And  thy  companions  piped  if  death  might  win 

the  race. 

Morning  with  all  her  splendors  hast  thou  seen, 
Wearing  her  jewel-stars  and  faded  moon; 
Nor  lovelier  evening,  nor  a  world  more  green 
Could  ages  show  to  thee  than  thou  hast  known ! 
Blest  art  thou,  therefore,  —  who  dost  fluting  go 
Where  in  new  pastures  fadeless  blossoms  blow. 


ELEGY   TO  DAPHNIS.  133 

Thou  lift'st  thy  languid  eyes  and  follow'st  him, 
The    shadow,    toward    the    kingdom    of    the 

Shades; 

Nor  stills  thy  melody  although  grows  dim 
Earth's  vision,  and  the  leaf  thou   look'st   on 

fades ; 

O  happy  youth,  thou  hast  not  lost  thy  pipe! 
Thy  bud  is  fresh  though  fruits  hang  over-ripe. 

Life  is  all  youth  to  thee,  and  Death  the  hand 
Leading  thee  gently  into  meadows,  where 
The  sun  of  summer  always  clothes  the  land, 
And  tender  leaves  dance  in  the  shining  air; 
Companioned  by  young  heroes  listening  mute, 
Thou  stretchest  thy  fair  limbs  and  ever  tun'st 
thy  flute. 

Jn  the  white  dawn  behold  a  silver  flame 
Leap  and  grow  ruddy  ere  Aurora's  ray 
Touches  with  color  all  the  world's  dark  frame! 
Upon  that  fiery  tip,  far,  far  away, 
Is  borne  the  dreaming  j-hepherd:  why  should  he 
Linger  with  age  when    Death  would  set   him 
free! 


CLYTIA, 


CLYTIA. 


Gewaltsam  schuttle  Helios  die  Lockengluth  : 
Doch  Menschenfade  zu  erhellen  sind  sie  nicht. 

GOETHE'S  Pandora. 

HROUGH   the  blackness  of  night  I 

can  see, 
Through  the  thickness    of    darkness 

light  comes, 
A  gleam  where  no  starlight  can  be, 
A  glance  where  no  meteor  roams; 
When  the  feet  of  the  morning  are  dark, 
And  the  lamp  of  her  eye  is  but  dim, 
And  the  flower  of  the  field  a  dead  spark, 
The  old  glint  of  the  wavelet  a  whim,  — 
When  a  mist  hides  the  earth  from  the  sky, 
When  a  sound  of  bells  tolling  is  heard, 
A  warning  to  fdiips  that  are  nigh, 
A  silence  of  beast  and  of  bird,  — 
When  the  sad  waves  lament  on  the  shore, 
Or  hurry  and  rush  to  the  sand, 


138  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

In  wild  waste,  and  tumult,  and  roar, 
A  purposeless,  riotous  band,  — 
Then  over  the  night  of  my  soul, 
And  over  the  tolling  of  death, 
New  fires  of  ecstasy  roll 
With  the  coming  of  Love,  which  is  breath; 
The  green  hollows  whisper  of  birds, 
The  silences  break  into  song, 
And  my  spirit  pours  out  into  words, 
That  to  gladness  find  morning  belong. 
But  alas!  for  the  glory  of  Dawn, 
For  his  coming  in  fragrance  and  might, 
Red  roses  and  billowy  lawn, 
With  the  full  patient  moon  in  his  sight! 
If  in  vain  do  we  wait  for  Love's  feet, 
And  listen  while  the  hours  long  delay, 
And  know  that  the  lilies  are  sweet, 
.  And  the  month  is  the  month  of  May! 
In  vain  would  my  spirit  be  glad, 
If  Love  hath  forgotten  his  way  ; 
Or  if  slow  he  linger  and  sad, 
In  vain  is  the  Madness  of  dav. 


THE  RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE. 


To 
THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  MOTHER. 


PERSOITS  REPRESENTED. 

ZEUS;     ....     Father  of  Gods  and  rrtfn. 

AIDONEUS  .     .     .     Brother  of  Zeus  and  r,d*r  of  the   Un'l, 

World. 

KELEUS     •     .          Prince  of  Eleusis. 
.  DEMOPUOOX  .     .     Infant  son  of  Keleus. 
HELIOS  .     .     God  of  the  Sun. 

DEMKTKR  .     .     .     Mother  of  Persephone   (her  dress  a   blue 

robe,  as  of  the  earth  in  shadow). 
PKRSEPIIOXE  .     .     Daughter  of  Demeter. 
METANEIEA    .     .     Wife  of  Kfleus. 
HECATE     .     .     .     Goddess  of  the  Moon. 
DAUGHTERS  OP  KELECS  AND  METANEIRA. 
CHORUS  OF  NYMPHS. 


THE    RETURN    OF    PERSEPHONE. 

ACT  I. 
DEMETER  enters,  leading  the  child  PERSEPHONE. 

PERSEPHONE. 

OTHER,  may  I  leave  you  here  awhile 
Sitting  and  listening  to  the  talking 

drops 
Which  fill  this  amber  fountain,  while 

I  go 

To  gather  crocuses  and  flags  for  you 
Down  in  the  meadow? 

DEMETER. 

Swift  as  go  the  hours! 

How  like  a  nymph  or  dryad  speeds  she  on! 
Leaping  across  the  path  and  fluttering  down 
Over  the  meadow,  as  the  Spring  herself 


14:2  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

First  flutters  here  and  there,  while  close  upon 
The  delicate  printing  of  her  feet  are  found 
The    new-born   flowers   and  buds    and   fairest 

things. 

Even  thus  the  field  puts  on  her  gayest  robe, 
Woven  w  yellow,  purple,  and  in  white, 
And  the  grass  bends  to  greet  Persephone. 

0  sweet  new  days!   wherein  the  young  moon 

folds 

The  old  on  her  bright  breast,  to  nourish  her! 
Slowly  the  old  shall  vanish,  silently, 
Lost  in  the  new  when  bud  shall  come  to  leaf. 

PERSEPHONE  (returning). 

See,  mother,  see! 

1  found  a  butterfly  in  the  meadow  there, 

And  brought   him  back   to   you,  best   gift  of 

all! 

Though  here  are  flowers,  crocuses,  violets; 
But,  ah!  beyond  my  reach,  down  by  the  cool 
Dark  stream  where  you  have  bid  me  not  to 

stray, 
Grow  tall,  strange,  purple  blooms,  though  some 

are  white, 
White  as  warm  lilies,  and  the  purple  dark 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         143 

As  streams  that  flow  to  Bacchus !     Might  I  go 
Once   more,    dear   mother,   thence,    to   gather 
them  ? 

DEMETER. 

No,  no,  my  child!     The  hours  now  beckon  us  : 
But  as  thou  goest  pluck  blossoms  from  thy  path 
And  strew  them  in  the  places  without  bloom  ; 
Thus  men  shall  mark  and  bless  thy  passing  feet. 
To-day  the  heart  of  the  old  earth  is  glad, 
Youth  is  so  sweet  to  her,  and  the  happy  time 
When  Spring  laughs  out,  nor  knows  of  love  nor 
death. 

They  pass  on  and  disappear  beneath  the  arches  which 
form  the  portal  of  their  abode.  Scene  changes.  The 
same  seated  within.  PERSEPHONE,  with  embroidery. 

PERSEPHONE. 

Mother,  thou  teachest  all  things  to  thy  child, 
All  she  would  know  and  all  this  life  can  need  ; 
I  pray  thee  teach  me  now  to  blend  these  threads 
And  weave  the  magic  hues  that  make  the  sky  ; 
Teach  me  to  simulate  blown  grain,  and  more, 
Far  more,  to  paint  the  light  in  human  eyes, 
When  joy  transforms  or  pity  bids  them  weep. 


144  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

DEMETER. 

My  daughter,  I  give  all  the  earth  can  give! 
This  warp  and  woof  of  dusky  circumstance, 
These  lovely  figures  changing  endlessly, 
Gilded  by  fancy,  painted  by  a  dream  ; 
Further,  the  needle  of  thine  industry, 
By  use  grown  sharp,  obedient  to  thy  need. 
Thou  lackest  yet  one  thing,  therefore  I  go 
To  watch  and  to  instruct  my  laborers, 
While  thou  here,   sitting,   in   thine  heart  re- 
volve 
How  joy  and  grief  spring  from  one  common 

root, 
Though  bearing  different  blooms,  and  tenderest 

souls 

Go  gathering  the  darkest,  while  they  smile 
With  a   calm  smile  which  lightens  the   great 
world. 

PERSEPHONE. 

Farewell,  my  bright-haired  mother,  far  away 
Over  the  greening  fields  they  wait  for  thee, 
The  laborers!     And  I,  I  know,  must  sit 
Alone  and  learn  to  weave  the  mingled  web, 
And  make  a  shining  mantle  for  thy  form, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         145 

To  prove  thy  child  doth  love  thee,  and  would 

strive 
To  add  a  brightness  to  thy  glorious  shape. 

DEMETER. 

Farewell  !     Word  heavy  with  a  sea  of  tears  ! 

[Goes. 

PERSEPHONE. 

How  the  wind  seems  to  breathe  among  these 

reeds 

Which  the  swift  needle  plants  beside  the  wave  1 
And  now  the  houses  of  the  gods  appear ! 
The  living  heaven  gazing  from  many  a  star! 
And  now  the  little  globe  whereon  we  sit 
Hangs   with    the   rest  and    sways  to    Tethys' 

voice  ! 

(Sings  at  her  work.) 

Zeus,  thou  father  of  earth  and  heaven, 
Thou  who  hast  clothed  the  Pleiades  seven 
In  their  robes  of  living  light; 
Each  a  flame,  a  quenchless  spark, 
Planted  in  a  homeless  dark, 
Shine  and  shadow  to  the  sight; 
Light  companioned  by  her  shade; 
10 


146  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Tell  me,  Zeus,  how  light  is  made, 
To  sink  and  deepen  into  dark. 

The  sacred  places  of  Dis  are  unveiled  to  her  ;  she  gazes 
at  first  awestruck,  then  bursts  into  tears. 

I  hear  the  myriad  waters  flow, 

Myriad  unwilling  footsteps  go 

Toward  the  realm  where  shadows  dwell. 

Now,  too  soon,  the  way  I  know! 

Swiftly  doth  the  needle  pass 

Over  the  full-ripened  grass, 

Through  yon  river's  death-cold  swell. 

Her  work  drops  unfinished,  night  passes,  dawn  appears, 
a  chorus  of  ocean  nymphs  approach  who  beckon  to 
PEKSEPHONE. 

Ye  beckon  me  to  leave  my  work  undone  ; 
Full  is  the  tide,  ye  say,  and  summer  ripe  : 
Ye  say  the  dew  lies  white  upon  the  field, 
And  cools  the  thirsty  violet  which  to-day 
Must  wither  ere  the  blood-red  lily  blooms. 
I  will  away  with  ye  ere  Helios  snatch 
The  diamonds  from  the  meadow,  or  shall  strive 
To  pierce  us  with  his  arrows,  all  in  vain; 
For  we  will  shelter  seek,  if  he  pursue, 
In  Hecate's  moony  cave,  or  by  the  rock 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         147 

Where  Neptune  murmurs  low  in  days  of  peace 
And  in  his  anger  rages  up  to  heaven. 
Meanwhile  the  dewy  eye  of  Phosphor  dims; 
Let  us  go  hence,  for  bitter  night  is  passed. 

iTkey  go  out,  moving  in  unison   as  they  sing,  into   thf-, 

fields. 

CHOKUS  OF  NYMPHS. 

STKOPHE. 

What  is  cool  as  ocean's  bed? 
Who  shall  say? 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Violets  ere  dews  be  fled; 
Naught  so  cool  as  they. 

STROPHE. 

What  is  soft  as  ocean's  wave? 
Who  shall  know  ? 

ANTISTROPHE. 

One  her  breast  to  Neptune  gave, 
White  as  snow; 
He  doth  know  ! 


148  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

STROPHE. 

Watery  world  wherein  we  live, 
Mortals  call  thy  realm  unstable! 
What  is  stable  canst  thou  give 
Earth,  the  home  of  magic  fable  ? 
Shadows  under  eyelids  play, 
Under  petals  of  a  flower, 
Then  they  vanish  all  away, 
Youth  and  petal  in  an  hour. 
Fading  world  of  fading  form, 
Naught  is  stable  we  can  see, 
Gold  and  green  and  white  and  warm 
Though  the  days  of  June  may  be. 

PERSEPHONE. 

No  more,  no  more  to-day  of  mournful  singing, 
Chaunt  no  replies  upon  these  shining  sands, 
But  come  and  dance,  for  Zephyrus  is  bringing 
Fresh  odors  from  the  heart  of  Eastern  lands. 
Come  into  meadows  where  the  dews  are  sleep- 
ing 

Rocked  tenderly  upon  each  petal's  breast, 
Forgetful  of  the  watch  the    Hours  are   keep- 
ing, 
Forgetting  death,  not  life,  is  born  of  rpst. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         149 

Come,  sisters,  come,  where  the  strange  flowers 
are  blooming, 

Down  yonder,  down,  beside  the  dark-leaved 
shore, 

Where  all  is  silent,  where  no  waves  are  boom- 
ing* 

Where  widening  blossoms  star  the  watery  floor. 

They  move  together  over  the  meadows ;  at  length  PER- 
SEPHONE allows  herself  to  be  outstripped,  remem- 
bering her  mother's  wish. 

Fain  would  I  too  those  godlike  clusters  bind, 
Were  I  one  with  these  others,  Neptuno's  own  ; 
But  he  is  jealous  of  my  mother's  love, 
And  reaches  up  strong  arms  to  drag  me  down, 
If  I  grow  careless  where  the  waves  run  low. 
She  bade  me  stay  behind,  but  here  perchance 
I  may  espy  some  wandering  flowers  astray 
From  that  fair  multitude,  if  Helios'  eye 
Be  not  too  keen  to  drive  me  from  the  field. 
How  cool   their  voices    sound,  half   lost,  half 

blent, 

With  murmur  of  the  willows  and  the  stream ! 
But  ah!  there  yonder,  there,  I  see  them  grow 
As  if  new-born  for  me,  the  wondrous  flowers! 
They  seem  a  hundred  blossoms  from  one  root, 


150  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

And   earth    and   sky    and    the    deep-bosomed 

nymphs, 
Daughters    of   Neptune,  laugh    in  their  sweet 

breath. 

Let  me  but  hasten,  that  I  too  may  glean, 
Ere  they  return,  a  harvest  rich  as  theirs 
From  the  great  love  in  my  great  mother's  heart. 

(She  runs  leaping  across  the  field.) 
I  think  the  blossoms  fly,  and  I  pursue  ; 
For  still  they  seem  but  farther  as  I  go; 
Ah!  now  I  f-eize  them!     But  I  faint,  I  feel 
Thee,  Father  Helios,  touch  me  with  thy  spear; 
Stay,  I  beseech  thee,  hold  thy  cruel  hand! 
I  am  too  young,  my  mother's  only  hope, 
HIT  happiness,  the  light  of  her  sweet  eyes, 
I  have  not  disobeyed  her!     Give  me  strength! 

Enter  AIDOXEUS. 

Come  with  me,  lady,  where  the  shadows  cool 
Will  lay  their  quiet  hands  upon  thy  brow. 
The  chariot  and  the  horses  are  mine  own  ; 
I  will  convey  thee  whither  thou  shnlt  sleep, 
Or  waking  sit  and  hear  no  sigh  of  grief, 
Nor  foolish  laughter;  calmly  move  the  shades. 
She  hears  me  not  !     Come,  lily,  bending  down, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         151 

Seeking,  unconscious,  still  tliy  mother-love, 
I  bear  thee  to  my  chariot,  and  the  steeds 
Now  swiftly  pass  these  meadows  and  the  stream, 
Now  the  deep  shadowed  valley  and  the  cave; 
Descending  ever  to  my  darkened  throne. 

PERSEPHONE  (awaking). 
How  dark !    Where  am  I  ?    Whence  is  this  cool 

wind 

Which  fans  my  brow  and  bids  my  sense  return  ! 
Why  didst  thou  strive,  O  Helios,  jealous  grown, 
To  bring  my  bright-haired  mother  to  despair? 
But  I  am  better  !     Mother!  mother  dear  ! 
I  did  not  disobey  thee  !     Where  art  thou  ? 

AIDONEUS. 

'T  is  I,  my  child,  am  with  thee!     Still  thou  art 
But  half  awakened  ;  I  have  brought  thee  safe, 
And  charioted  in  gold  with  flying  steeds, 
Far  from  the  bright  hot  world,  that  thou  mightst 

sleep 
In  peace,  nor  know  the  trouble  mortals  know. 

PERSEPHONE. 

Where  is  my  mother?     'T  is  no  grief  of  mine 


152  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Of  which  I  speak !   Bring  thou  me  back  to  her ! 
Wilt  not?     Then  will  I  call  to  her,  and  she,  — 
And  she,  though  hidden  in  her  inmost  cave, 
Or  swept  by  clashing  sheaths  of  the  grown  corn, 
Would  hear,  and  come,  and  answer. 

[She  calls  and  listens,  then  calls  again. 

AIDOXKl  S. 

No  voice  returns  to  touch  the  ear  of  earth 
From  these  my  kingdoms!     We  are  past  the 

bounds 

Where  voices  move  the  Spirit  of  the  Air, 
Bidding  him  fly  to  seek  the  one  they  love. 
The  bitter  striving  and  pale  agony, 
The  disobedient  heart  that  endless  beats 
Forever  on  the  boundaries  I  have  placed, 
These  may  alone  be  heard,  and  to  the  light 
Of  day  and  dreams  of  night  bring  awful  shapes. 
A  multitude  of  shadows  approach  ;  PERSEPHONE  and 
AIDOXEUS  disappear  among  them. 

HECATE  (turning  slowly  frontier  dark  retreat  toward 

the  earth). 

I  heard  a  mortal  cry,  a  cry  of  pain ! 
I  thought  the  voice  was  of  Persephone  ; 
Now  will  I  give  Demeter  all  rny  light, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         153 

And  hang  in  peace  above  her  restless  soul. 

I  may  not  smile  upon  the  face  of  grief 

And  bid  it  smile  again!     I  only  move 

Serene  on  my  one  errand,  and  behold 

The  clouds  succeed,  —  then,  after  clouds,  the 

sun. 

We  are  but  phantoms  moving  to  the  voice 
Of  the  Great  Heart  which  still  renews  itself 
And  blooms  again  in  spite  of  winter's  frost. 
[She  mounts  slowly  up  the  east. 

HELIOS  (in  the  west). 

My  ardent  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  form. 
When  lo  !  she  drooped;  then  Aidoneus, 
Too  ready  to  possess  so  fair  a  flower, 
Gathered  her  up  and  drew  her  to  himself. 
I  will  away  unto  the  sleepy  hills. 
We  were  alone,  the  secret  rests  with  me. 
To-morrow  with  the  dawn  will  I  return 
Unchanged,  as  if  unknowing  of  the  change 
Fallen  Demeter ;  all  shall  smile  the  same, 
Though  now  the  mother  must  grow  old  alone, 
Nor  greet  her  darling's  face  forevermore. 

[Sinks  and  disappear*. 


154 


UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 


ACT  II. 

DEMETER  (seeking). 

IIEXCE  came  that  cry!     Echo,  mine 

elf,  was  't  thou, 
Playing   thine  idle    pranks    to  lure 

some  god 

Lost  in  the  enchanted  bosom  of  the  wood? 
It  comes  again !     And  now  the  peaked  hills 
Repeat  the  sound,  and  now  the  ocean  deeps; 
Too  like,  too  like  thy  voice,  Persephone! 
Darling,  where  art  thou  V     I  can  find  thee  not. 
A  sharp  pain  seizes  at  my  heart!     Not  here! 
How  silent  are  these  halls  !     This  narrow  room 
Wherein  she  sat  !     The  stillness  speaks  aloud  ! 
The  birds,  grown  wonted  to  the  dusky  vine 
Around  her  open  casement,  chatter  there 
All  day  when   naught  is  questioned   of    their 

speech, 

But  now,  alas!  they  stir  not;  all  are  hid; 
The  very  voices  of  the  sea  are  hushed, 
And  when  I  call  her  name  Persephone! 
And  yet  again,  Persephone!  more  loud, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         155 

Comes  only  deeper  stillness.     Why  so  mute, 
Ye  birds,  dear  birds,  who  watched  her  tender 

feet  ! 
Ye  waving  trees  and  blossoming   shrubs  that 

brushed 

The  hem  of  her  soft  raiment  !     Tell  me  now 
Whither  she   passed  !    where  I  may  find  my 

love  ! 

Behold  the  clouds  are  come  to  weep  for  her, 
Yet  speak  no  word!     Dumb,  speechless  are  ye 

all! 

Yet  see,  where  Iris  speeds  to  Helios'  throne 
To  ask  him  of   my    child  ;    swift  though  her 

flight,    ' 

Already  is  the  god  in  darkness  veiled, 
Journeying   upon    his    storm-cloud    down   the 

west. 

My  hope  is  dying  !     Sad-faced  Erebus 
Stalks  past  my  window,  enters  at  the  door, 
And  seems  to  say  he  shall  abide  with  me. 
Day  is  not  day  when  love  and  hope  are  dead  ! 
Let  me  look  eastward,  there  where  Eos  once 
Was  ever  ready  with  her  laughing  face 
To  follow  Phosphor.     1  will  wait  for  her  — 
But  no  !     I  cannot  weep  through  these  long 

hours ! 


156  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Behold  my  sister  Hecate  from  her  cave 
Now  looking  wistful  in  my  longing  eyes  ! 
I  will  ask  her.     O  tell  me,  sister  mine! 
In  thy  cool  cavern  hear'st  thou  aught  of  grief, 
Or  voices  crying  from  the  deeps  of  earth? 
For  one  is  wandering  motherless,  and  I 
Am  left  alone,  bereaved  of  all  my  home. 


Far  in  my  cave  withdrawn 
I  heard  an  earthly  cry, 
As  if  the  leaves  were  strewn, 
As  if  the  wells  were  dry  ; 
As  autumn  days  were  come, 
And  summer  now  must  die  ; 
Again  T  heard  the  moan, 
I»heard  the  voice  of  one 
Who  prayed  her  mother's  love 
To  hear  her  latest  tone  ; 
I  said  it  is  Persephone, 
Dcmeter's  child!     The  only! 

In  vain!     In  vain!     Too  swift 
The  chariot  rolled  away  ; 
I  saw  not  him  who  drave, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         157 

No  god  those  wheels  might  stay; 
Save  Helios,  who  in  heaven, 
Led  on  the  dancing  Hours, 
And  stooped  to  kiss  her  once 
While  she  was  gathering  flowers  ; 
Alas!  I  said,  Persephone! 
The  only  !     The  only ! 

[She passes  slowly  across  the  heavens  ivhile  DEME- 
TEK  wanders  aimlessly,  absorbed  In  grief. 


O  Hecate,  turn  not  thy  calm  face  away! 
Thou  wert  the  last  to  hear  my  darling's  voice! 
Enlighten  me  to  seek  at  Helios'  throne 
The  path  by  which  her  young  feet  were  mis- 
led ; 

Then  if  thou  goest,  go  but  to  return ; 
For  day  is  night  now  I  am  left  alone, 
Yet  .without  thee  I  stumble  in  my  search. 

(The  smiling  face  of  Eos  appears  in  the  east.) 
Eos,  dear  Eos,  know'st  thou  where  is  fled 
The  flower  of  this  fair  world,  Persephone? 

EOS. 

Wherefore  should   I   know,  mother,  who   but 
steal 


158  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

A  kiss  from  her  young  lips  when  first  I  wake, 
Then  flee  before  the  feet  of  my  great  Lord  ? 

HELIOS  seated  on  a  golden  chariot,  accompanied  by 
the  HOURS,  is  seen  climbing  the  horizon. 

DEMETER. 

O  thou  whose  awful  footsteps  climb  the  sky, 
Thou  who   dost  bid  the  heavens  to  move  for 

thee, 

The  seas  to  follow  and  the  flowers  to  raise 
Their  heads  in  prayer,  I,  too,  bow  unto  thee, 
And  kiss  thy  golden  raiment,  and  implore. 

0  Father  Helios,  thou  who  seest  all 

Thy  children  in  their  ways  both  good  and  ill, 
Thou  who  didst  love  me  decked  in  happy  hues, 

1  pray  thee  tell  me  where  Persephone 
My  child,  my  only  darling,  now  is  gone, 

And  who  hath  done  this  wrong,  and  why  the 
deed. 

HELIOS. 

Swift  are  the  Hours, 

Nor  hasting, 

Nor  wasting! 

From  the  waters  they  rise ; 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         159 

They  bear  in  their  eyes 
The  hope  of  the  future, 
The  light  of  the  skies. 

Strong  is  their  flight ; 

The  portal 

Immortal, 

Moved  by  their  strain 

Of  laughter  or  pain, 

Sways  to  admit  them, 

Then  closes  again. 

God  of  the  heavens, 

Nor  hearing, 

Nor  fearing, 

I  move  in  my  sphere 

Remote  and  austere ; 

I,  seated  in  glory, 

Bid  the  Hours  to  hear. 

Ask  them,  the  sisters  1 
The  unswerving, 
The  serving  ; 
Ask  not  the  god-head, 
Of  living  or  dead  ; 


160  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

I,  seated  in  glory, 
Know  not  what  is  sped. 
[He  passes  on,  hidden  in  a  veil  of  dazzling  light. 

DEMETEU  (despairing). 
Linger,  ye  Hours,  O  linger,  tell  me  where  — 

THE    FLYING   HOURS. 

On,  ever  on, 

Servants  are  we, 

We  have  no  will  of  our  own  ; 

Fast  or  slow,  — 

The  fall  of  our  feet, 

The  end  is  ever  the  same  ; 

What  the  gods  tell  us  we  do, 

What  the  heart  of  the  lover  commands; 

Naught  do  we  know  of  ourselves, 

We  are  empty  of  thought,  of  desire. 

Zeus  knoweth  more  than  all, 
He  knoweth  of  death  and  of  life ; 
Both  when  the  child  shall  be  born 
And  the  days  at  length  be  fulfilled; 
He  knoweth  the  future  ; 
The  unknown  he  knoweth, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         161 

The  dark  and  the  light; 
When  one  shall  vanish  away, 
And  whither  the  vanisher  speeds. 

DEMKTER  (in  anger}. 

Dost  thou  know  all,    O  Zeus  !      Then  where- 
fore keep 

from  me,  the  sister  of  the  gods,  mine  own! 
Why  didst  not  tell  me  Aidoneus  stole 
My  child  away,  but  leav'st  me  searching  here 
As  if  thou  wert  ignorant  of  the  underworld ! 
False,  false  to  me,  who  sittest  at  thy  board 
In  all  the  assemblies  !    I,  whom  thou  hast  loved, 
And  now  deceiv'st  as  one  clay-born  of  men, 
Since  thou  dost  know,  I  know  !     Ever  't  was 

thus, 
Whom  I  did  love  thou  hatest  ;  and  now  thou 

hast  given 

My  one,  my  darling,  to  A'idoneus'  arms  I 
Never  again,  ah!  never  will  I  sit 
Beside  thy  board  nor  pass  the  wreathed  cup! 
The  buds  shall  wither  and  the  streams  shall 

dry! 

Green  valleys  become  brown!     The  corn  shall 
fail! 

11 


162  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

And  sands  now  shut  in  Africa  shall  sweep 

Across  the  seas  and  mantle  all  our  land  ! 

The  purple  dark  which   shrouds  .the  midnight 

sky 

Is  not  more  dark  than  is  this  veil  I  draw 
To  hide  the  ravages  of  grief  and  bid 
The  voice  of  joy  be  silent.     Thus  I  pass, 
And  seek  the  stony  hills  and  difficult  ways 
Known  to  the  gods,  that  haply  seeking  thus 
I  yet  may  hear  that  voice  which  made  the  day 
All   music,    and   whose   absence   makes   earth 

dumb. 

[She  draws  her  blue  veil  about  her  and  wanders  away 
while  the  Land  gradually  becomes  desert. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE. 


163 


ACT  III. 

THE    WELL    OF    ELEUSIS. 

DEMETER  (in  the  figure  of  an  aged  woman,  seated  on 
the  Stone  of  Sorrow). 


Y  yellow  hair  is  sprinkled  white  with 

snow ; 
Even  as  in  autumn  early  drifts  are 

piled 

Against  the  hedge,  nor  fade  beneath  the  gaze 
Of  Helios  half 'estranged,  but  wait  until 
The  punctual  clouds  return  to  bring  afresh 
A  chilly  mantle  woven  for  all  who  sleep. 
Thus  peace  abides  under  the  snow  of  age, 
And  living  spirit  in  the  faded  form  ! 
Here. may  I  sit  upon  this  wayside  stone 
Alone,  or  wandering  in  my  loneliness, 
And  see,  upgazing  with  these  mournful  eyes, 
Visions  withheld  save  from  the  eyes  of  grief. 

four  young  maidens,  daughters  of  KELEUS,  approach 
to  draw  water.  They  come  running  and  leaping  like 
fawns.  They  sing. 


164  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

CALLIDICE,  CLEISIDICE,  DEMO,  CALLITHOE 

CALL1THOE. 

Pure  well  !     Deep  well  ! 
We  draw  thy  bubbles, 
Thy  shining  bubbles  ! 
But  quick  they  vanish, 
Like  the  troubles 
Of  our  youth. 
O  thou  pure  well  ! 
Deep  as  love, 
Deep  as  desire  ! 
Stay  thou  forever, 
And  us  deliver 
From  thirst  and  fire. 
Thou  strong  clear  spring  ! 
Deep  as  love, 
Deep  as  truth  ! 
Cleanse  and  feed, 
And  cool  at  need, 
These  fires  of  youth. 

( The y  perceive  DEMETER.) 

CALI.IDICE  (to  her  sisters.) 
Often  we  see  an  aged  woman  pass 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         165 

Across  our  path,  and  say,  Alas  !  she  is  old  ; 
Pains  have  beset  her  and  her  nights  are  long  1 
But  lo!  she  goeth  to  her  children's  home, 
To  bring  them  fruits  of  dear  experience, 
And  guide  the  grandchild's  feet  lest  they  should 

stray. 

Here  lonely  sits  with  sorrow  for  her  friend, 
Sad  friend,  sad  sorrow,  this  poor  aged  crone, 
As  if  her  life  were  death  though  days  remain. 
Come,  let  us  speak  to  her  and  give  her  cheer, 
And  tell  her  of  our  mother's  baby  boy, 
Who  lies  now  pale  and  drooping  in  her  arms. 
Pray  her  to  come  and  tell  us  how  to  give 
Our  baby  fresher  color  and  strong  life. 
She  should  be  wise,  if  wisdom  grow  with  years  ! 
She  should  be  kind,  if  sorrow  match  with  love! 

DEMETER  (regarding  them). 

{To  herself.)     I  had  a  daughter  once  as  fair  as 

they  ! 

Her  eyes  were  ardent  like  the  maid  who  speaks, 
Her  figure  lithe  like  yonder  one  who  stoops 
To  gather  flowers  ;  't,  was  even  thus  she  stooped; 
And  like  that  other  drooped  her  pensive  head,  — 
The  one  who  listens  :  and  her  laugh,  ah  me  ! 


166  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

How  like  the  rippling  lauj;h  of  her  who  finds 
And  points  her  sister  where  the  blossoms  grow! 
For  here  besi.le  the  well  where  all  must  drink, 
A  fringe  of  -green  still  quickens  the  dead  worl  1. 

CALLIDICE  (approaching}. 

I  pray  thee  wilt  thou  come  with  us  where  sits 
Our  mother  sad  beside  the  household  fire, 
Holding  our  baby  brother  on  her  knees? 
For  he  is  ill,  and  thou  who  sittest  here, 
Bent  with  the  weight  of  wisdom  and  of  time, 
May  comfort  us  and  bring  him  back  to  health. 

DEMETER. 

Why  should  I  rise  !     Why  should  these   aged 

feet 

Make  haste  to  quit  this  sacred  spot  whereon 
My  sorrow  hand  in  hand  with  peace  may  sit, 
And  undisturbed  rehearse  the  happy  past  ! 
Here,  mindless  of  the  present,  I  behold 
Strange  secrets  of  the  future,  only  known 
To  those  who  dwell  alone  with  speechless  grief 
Why  but  for  ye,  ye  Prayers,  daughters  of  Zeus, 
Honor  to  whom  is  honor  unto  him! 
Ye  sit  upon  the  lips  of  these  fair  maids, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         167 

Who  each  boars  with  her  something  of  my  child 

Persephone,  that  unity  of  all 

Most  sweet,  most  fair,  compassed  within  one 

form, 

And  I  must  listen  ;  since  if  these  are  fair, 
Yet  four  times  fairer  was  Persephone  ! 
And  when  she  prays  to  be  brought  back  to  me, 
He  would  offend  indeed  who  would  not  hear. 
Prayers  should  sit  fourfold  on  her  flower-like 

lips 

And  wait  upon  the  coming  of  her  feet, 
Move  as  she  moves,  a  goddess  in  her  flight. 
She,  ever  radiant  with  the  illusive  veil 
Which  seems  to  be,  yet  fades  and  is  no  more, 
The  mortal  veil  of  something  which  endures, — 
Who  can  resist  beseeching  on  her  lips  ! 

CALLIDICE. 

Wilt  thou  come  with  us,  nurse,  and    see  the 
child  ? 

DEMETER. 

I  will,  lead  on  !     Can  others  grieve  as  I? 
Stately  they  move,  bearing  their  water-jars; 
Each  one  with  arm  uplifted  tall  and  straight; 


168  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Attendant  maidens  worthy  of  a  queen. 
They  should  be  mine  if  rest  remained  for  me, 
Or  hope,  or  light,  or  joy,  or  aught  to  love. 
Ah  me  !     Beyond  the  well  a  poppy  grew : 
Forgetful  of  my  vow,  I  plucked  the  flower 
And  bearing  idly  now  have  sown  the  seed. 
My  broken  vow,  alas  !  must  bear  its  fruit. 
Behold  the  arch  of  Keleus  and  the  hall  ! 
And  now  the  maidens  put  their  burden  down 
And  beckon  me  to  follow  on  their  steps. 

(She   wraps  her  blue  robe  closely  around  her  form 
and  enters. ) 

I  hear  the  mother  singing  to  her  child  ! 
Thus  in  the  night  I  sung  from  topmost  pine, 
Or  in  the  bushes  called  the  nightingale 
To  give  her  his  own  lyric.     Ah !  ah  me  ! 

METANEIRA  (singing  to  Demophoon,  who  lies  upon  her 
knees). 

Coo,  coo,  coo,  chanteth  the  mother  of  doves  ! 
Rocked  in  the  arms  of   the  trees  the  drowsy 

birds  are  asleep  ; 
Rocked  in  the  arms  of  thy  mother,  who  ever  a 

watch  doth  keep, 

Coo,  coo,  my  baby,  sweetest  of  all  the  loves  ! 
(The  baby  moves  restlessly  and  cries.) 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         169 

CALLIDICE. 

Strive  no  more,  mother,  but  lay  down  thy  care, 
For  lo  !  beside  the  well  an  ancient  dame 
We  found,  forlorn,  like  one  bereaved  of  love, 
And  we  have  brought  her  hither.     She   doth 

wear 

The  front  of  wisdom  and  the  form  of  age  ; 
And  on  her  heart  she  seems  to  rest  the  head 
Of  ever-present  grief  ;  thine,  too,  is  hers; 
Give  her  the  child  !     He  cannot  suffer  more 
Than  now  he  suffers  nested  in  your  arms. 
Perchance  she  bears  some  spell  to  charm  away 
The  demon  which  forever  draws  the  child 
Farther  from  us  and  bids  him  hate  the  sun. 

METANEIRA  (to  DEMETER). 

Nurse,  take  the  child  and  sit  thou  here  by  me, 
Where  I  may  watch  his  breathing  and  behold 
Each  movement,   though  I  no  more  bear  the 

weight. 
DEMETER  takes  the  child  and  seats  herself  in  silence 

on  a  low  stool  by  the  hearth.    She  croons  over  it  in  a 

voice  inaudible  to  METANEIRA. 

Come,  baby,  come 

To  my  warm  young  breast 


170  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Under  my  robe, 
Here  is  thy  home, 
Here  is  thy  rest ; 
Come,  baby,  come  ! 

Age  may  not  touch  thee; 

Young,  ever  young, 

Is  my  heart  :  see 

How  soft  and  how  warm  ! 

And  the  songs  I  have  sung 

I  will  sing  them  again 

For  thee,  for  thee  ! 

Close,  nestle  close  ! 

I  cover  my  head 

With  the  veil  of  my  grief  ; 

But  beneath,  beneath, 

Sleep  beauty  and  youth, 

And  my  pain  is  fled. 

Close,  baby,  close! 

I  feel  thy  soft  hands 

Nestle  and  steal 

Round  the  waves  of  my  breast ; 

Come,  baby,  come  ! 

Here  is  thy  home, 

Here  is  thy  rest. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         171 

METANEIRA. 

The  child  is  quiet  !  I  will  rise  and  seek 
The  household  duties  which  forever  wait 
The  housewife's  hand.  Why  should  he  lie  so 

still, 

While  I  who  strove  and  wept  o'er  his  unrest 
Could  soothe  him  not  !    Bring  hither,  maid,  the 

wheel  ! 

[She  takes  the  distaff  and  spins. 

Enter  KELEUS. 

Who  is  this  ancient  crone  who  sits  with  thee 
And  rocks  our  babe? 

METANEIRA. 

One  whom  our  daughters  found 
Beside  the  well,  alone,  and  worn  with  grief, 
Whose  length  of  days  outrun  the  days  of  love, 
And  still  go  on.     Yet  when  she  learned 
AVe  drew  our  breath  in  anguish  for  our  child, 
Her  heart  renewed  itself,  and  swift  she  came, 
Armed  with  experience,  to  bring  us  aid. 

KELEUS. 
The  baby  is  asleep  :  the  night  draws  nigh  ; 


172  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Go  thou  to  rest  !     Perchance  when  day  returns 
He  may  require  thy  care,  the  nurse  being  spent. 
[They  go  out. 

DEMETER  (alone  with  the  child). 

Breathe,  breathe,  and  suck  the  milk  of  my  warm 

breast ! 

How  should  I  feel  again  a  mother's  joy! 
Sad  Aidoneus  shalt  not  find  thee,  dear ! 
For  I  will  nourish  thee  and  hold  thee  safe, 
That  others  may  not  weep  as  I  have  done, 
And  see  the  black  days  pass  devoid  of  hope. 
Wax  strong  and  grow  and  stretch  thy  rounded 

limbs  ! 

Drink  the  warm  milk  of  my  late  tenderness, 
Grown  greater  for  the  sorrows  I  have  known. 
But  hush  !     Thou  shalt  not  breathe  the  breath 

of  sighs, 

Nor  languish  on  my  heart's  exhausted  flame  ; 
I  will  build  fires  afresh  for  thee,  and  blow 
The  ashes  of  my  love,  and  lay  thee  there 
To  purify  and  strengthen  for  thy  day. 

She  rises,  lays  the  brands  together  on  the  hearth,  and 
places  the  child  thereon,  ffe  rests  there  unhurt,  grow- 
ing more  ruddy,  laughing  and  stretching  out  his  hand 
to  her,  while  she  smiles  down  on  him. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         173 

Work,  charm !     Work,  fire  !     'T  is  thus  a  man 
is  made. 

She  takes  up  the  child,  who  rests  and  sleeps  on  her 
shotdder,  while  she  walks  with  him;  af/ain  she  sits 
and  looks  at  DEMOPHOON,  who  seems  to  increase  in 
size  ;  presently  she  rises  and  lays  him  once  more  on  the 
flaming  brands. 

Enter  METAXEIKA. 
My  child  !     Ah,  woe  !     What  horror  !     Slave, 

begone  ! 
Help!  help  !    My  child  !    In  vain  I  snatch  thee 

up 

And  strive  to  dash  away  these  floes  of  flame 
Wider  and  wider  still  they  seem  to  spread  — 

[She  flings  down  the  child  and  runs  out,  shrieking 
for  help. 

DEMETER. 

Mortals  know  not  the  gods  till  they  be  fled  ; 
Wrapped  in  the  veil  of  silence,  grief,  or  age, 
They  follow  unsuspected  on  man's  path. 
My  darling,  my  Demophoon,  thou  must  live 
And  serve  me  here,  grown    stronger  for   this 
hour, 


174  UNDER   THE  OLIVE. 

But  I  must  forth  !     Alone,  ever  alone, 
The  great  must  voyage  over  stony  heights, 
And  step  by  step  must  climb  Olympos,  ere 
The  voice  of  Zeus  shall  answer  !     Sweet,  fare- 
well ! 

KKLEUS  OTW/METAXEIRA  enter,  while  DEMETER,  about 
to  vanish,  rises  in  her  youthful  glory  and  scatters 
jlou-ersand  odors  in  benediction  upon  the  house. 

METAXEIHA. 

Mother  Demeter,  now  I  know  thy  face, 
Alas,  too  late  !     I  pray  thee  hear  my  prayer! 
I  did  not  know  my  goddess  in  that  garb, 
Far  hidden  under  sorrow's  dark-blue  veil  ; 
Her,  ever-youthful,  shrouded  thus  in  age  ! 
Hear  me,  O  mother  !     Stay  — Demophoon  — 
[DEMETER  vanishes. 


She  is  gone  !     Fools  are  we  :  slow  to  see  the 

good! 

Caught  by  the  glamour  of  a  passing  joy, 
But  dull  to  prize  the  jewel,  till  too  late, 
Concealed  within  the  stone  !     O  mother,  hear! 
There  by  the  well  where  first  thy  sacred  feet 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.          175 

Paused  in  Eleusis  we  will  build  thy  shrine, 
A  holy  temple  which  may  shelter  thee 
And  thy  fond  votaries  till  Zeus  shall  hear 
Thy  prayer  and  give  thee  back  Persephone. 
Meanwhile  this  child  Demophobn  shall  abide 
Thy  priest  therein;  there,  from  his  loins  grown 

strong 
With  thine  own  strength,  shall  flourish  through 

all  time 

A  race  of  priests  which  shall  adore  thy  name, 
And  keep  thy  temple  for  a  holy  place, 
Till  mortal  birth  no  longer  mortal  death 
Shall  follow,  from  thy  hands,  forevermore. 


176 


UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 


ACT  IV. 

DEMETER  (alone  just  before  dawn  on  the  desert  shore 
of  a  vast  silent  river.) 

BATHER  HELIOS,  through  the  thick 

of  night, 

Above  the  silver  river  at  my  feet, 
I -see  thy  rosy  messengers  return. 
Look  t.hou  with  kindly  eyes  on  me  forlorn, 
A  heart  forsaken  in  a  desert  land, 
And  wandering-  through  a  night  which  has  no 

day. 

Look  tenderly  upon  me  once  again, 
Though  I  am  gray  and  wear  these  dark-blue 

weeds, 

And  have  forgotten  all  the  tissues  fine, 
Woven  of  roses,  thou  wast  wont  to  love. 
Butf  if  thou  wilt  recall  Persephone, 
She  will  adorn  her  with  the  flowers  of  spring. 
Her  thou  wilt  love  ;  then  will  old  earth  be  gay, 
Then  will  the  sea  and  sky  rejoice  with  her, 
And  gladness  take  possession  !     Hear  me  now. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         Ill 

HELIOS  (bending  his  rays  slowly  but  caressingly  upon 
her  ;  a  blush  suffuses  the  whole  heaven  and  the  deeps 
of  the  sea). 

Yield,  O  tliou  god  of  darkness,  yield  the  maid! 

(A  cry  of  joy  is  heard,  continued  and  confused,  like 
myriads  of  waking  birds.) 

This  gladness  thrills  throughout  the  upper  world. 

Now  Aidoneus  bids  his  love  return 

For  a  brief  space  to  soothe  her  mother's  heart. 

I  hear  Persephone  answer  him  again, 

Up  from  her  couch,  swift-rising,  wilh  a  song  ; 

All  nature  listens,  every  bird  replies. 

PERSEPHONE  (dimly  heard  from  afar). 
I  would  away,  since  thou,  my  love,  dost  bid  : 
Ceaseless  I  hear  my  mother's  longing  cry, 
Still  do  I  see  her  in  the  dust  forlorn  ; 
I  would  bend  over  her  and  bid  her  live, 
"Would  sing  old  songs  until  she  too  shall  sing, 
Would  laugh  a  girlish  laugh  till  she  shall  smile 
The  old  sweet  way,  bidding  the  land  rejoice. 
To  her  belongs  a  portion  of  the  fruit, 
Pomegranate,  which  thy  love  hast  given  to  me, 
And  eating  I  have  learned  to  know  the  seed 
Shall  fall,  the  manymany  seeds  shall  fall 
In  the  dark  earth,  then  grow  again  to  light. 


178  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

ATOONEUS. 

Speed  thee,  Persephone,  and  seek  thine  own  ! 
Wipe  her  dull  tears  away,  and  bring  the  joy 
Of  thy  bright  presence  to  the  weeping  world. 
I  may  not  hence  with  thee,  but  thou  to  me, 
Dear,  shalt  return  and  find  thy  promised  rest.* 

PERSEPHONE. 

I  hear  the  stamping  horses,  swift  T  go  ! 
And  peaceful  will  return  when  T  shall  hear 
The  peaceful  beating  of  my  mother's  breast. 
For  she  shall  know  what  calm  abides  with  thee. 
Here  jealous  Helios  nor  the  hund  of  Zeus 
Can  make  us  grieve  :  here,  when  the  brown 

leaves  fall 

And  autumn  freezes  the  green  upper  world, 
We  do  but  smile  and  brood  on  the  new  birth 
Within  the  fallen  seed  ;  here  do  we  watch 
The  life  that  ever  lives,  yet  living,  rests, 
Thus  to  renew  itself  and  bring  again, 
Not  the  old  past,  —  ah  no  !  but  tenderer  yet 
The  same  old  beauty  with  a  heart  renewed. 

Quickly  I  go,  and  amaryllis.  plant 

In  the  same  places  where  last  year  it  bloomed, 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         179 

Tliat  the  new  heart  may  bound  with  the  old 

love. 
Away  !  away,  ye  steeds  !     Away  !  away  ! 

SCENE    CHAXGES. 

DKMETER  enters  in  the  perfect  beauty  of  womanhood, 
wearing  full-blown  roses;  she  leads  PERSEPHONE  by 
the  hand. 

DEMETER. 

Sit  here,  my  child,  and  let  me  gaze  on  thee  ! 
How  softly  dance  these  tendrils  of  the  vine, 
These  earliest  shoots  of  many  a  promised  joy, 
About  thy  brow  ;  and  this  illusive  veil 
The  summer  of  mine  eyes  would  fain  disperse, 
How  gently  does  it  shroud  thy  tender  form. 
Ah!  gladness  of  return  !     What  is  all  bliss, 
The  whole  wide  sum  the  soul  may  gather  in, 
Compared   to  this,   thy  coming?      What  was 

death, 

Is  life  ;  all  being  absent  is  now  all 
Restored  :  so  deep  as  grief  could  sound,  so  high 
Doth  joy  now  climb  ;  once  having  been  mine 

own, 
There  is  no  life,  no  light,  when  thou  art  gone. 


180  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PERSEPHONE. 

Fond  mother,  say  not  so  !     Thou  found'st  the 

child 

Demophob'n,  and  fed'st  thy  hungry  heart ; 
Or  when  that  joy  was  snatched  thou  still  didst 

feel 

A  new,  keen  grace  in  making  others  glad. 
And  this  is  left  to  thee,  this  forever  stays, 
Though  I  must  go  and  leave  thee  ;  for  no  more 
Can  thy  warm  breast,  thy  beauty,  or  the  love 
Of  thy  great  glory  feeding  every  sense, 
Detain  me  from  the  world  where  shadows  dwell  ; 
For  there  is  also  love,  and  there  is  calm. 

DEMETER. 

Speak  no  more,  darling,  of  the  darkness  past  ! 
Art  thou   not  here?     Are  youth  and  joy  not 

here? 

Do  not  the  birds  sing  and  the  buds  leap  out? 
Why  shouldst  thou  dwell  on  sorrows  that  have 

"been  ! 

PERSEPHONE. 

Mother,  the  immortal  shadows   n  tneir  wander- 
ings 
Teach  us  what  hath  been  evermore  shall  be. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         181 

The  race  of  mortals  quickly  may  forget, 
But  in  that  shade  the  seeds  put  forth  again 
"Which  thou,  neglectful,  hid'stin  thy  rich  heart. 
Hence  is  it  sorrow  may  no  longer  be 
A  sorrow  there;  there  do  we  find  again 
What  love  has  covered  ;  only  such  remains  ; 
The  seed  that  is  not  cherished  shall  not  grow. 

DKMETER. 

• 

Look  not  on  me  with  thy  compassionate  eyes  ! 
Thou,    love,    art    here,    and   gladness   is    on 

all; 

The  west  wind  waves  at  will  my  yellow  hair  ; 
The  hoary  chestnuts  blow  on  yonder  hill ; 
The  flower-de-luce  is  blooming  by  the  stream  ; 
And  thou  and  I  may  wander  all  the  day. 
What  more  !     What  more  !     I  ask  the  gods  no 

more. 

PEKSEPHOXE. 

I,  too,  rejoice,  my  mother,  thou  being  glad! 
Brief  are  the  days  I  may  remain  with  thee, 
But  glorious  in  their  passing  ;  nor  is  told 
What  hour- the  steeds  of  Aidoneus  come. 
But  he  is  kind,  and  while  the  summer  moons 


182  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Greaten  or  fade,  he  stays  his  solemn  call 
And  leaves  us  to  our  gladness. 

DEMETEK. 

Art  thou  not  mine  ! 

Then  wherefore  dost  thou   bring   these   dark- 
some thoughts 
Into  our  sunshine  ! 

• 

PEUSEP110XE. 

Am  I  not  also  his  ! 

Let  me  not  grieve  thee,  mother,  this  sweet  day  1 
Hold  me  once  more  upon  thy  blessed  breast, 
As  when  I  was  a  child  and  knew  but  thee. 
Perchance  thou   dost  not   know  the  world    of 
shades  ! 

UEMETER. 

I  know  thou  wert  stolen  and  art  mine  again  ; 
That  with  thy  coming  summer  days  are  ours, 
And  endless  beauty,  born  of  light  and  love. 

PERSEPHONE. 

Endless  !  Nay,  mother,  see  yon  roses  droop 
Which  were  but  now  thy  pride. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         183 

DEMETER  (impatiently). 

Tliou  art  not  a  rose  ! 

PERSEPHONE. 

In  the  vast  kingdom  of  the  shades,  where  live 
The  spirits  men  call  dead,  we  love  these  flow- 
ers 

With  a  deep  passion,  such  as  Sorrow  plants 
In  her  black  mould ;  and  from  their  faded  stem 
Springs  ever  a  fresh  blossom  like  to  that 
Pale  Sorrow  yields. 

DEMETER. 

I  pray,  look  yonder,  see  1 
A  yellow  bee  upon  his  purple  throne  ! 
Even  now  the  thistle  wears  a  gorgeous  robe 
To  greet  thee  coming. 

SCENE    CHANGES. 

Autumn.     A  forsaken  garden.     DEMETER  and  PER- 
SEPHONE. 

DEMETER. 

The  ground  is  strewn  with  ruins  of  the  year  j 
One  rose  remains,  late  lingerer  !     Boreas  calls! 


184  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

I  shudder  at  the  echoes  of  his  voice! 

What  would  he  here?     And  now  the  last  swan 

bends 

His  southward  course  and  flies  to  Africa. 
But  hark  !     Another  sound  the  silence  stirs  ! 
The  stamping  of  strange  steeds!     Ah  me!  ah 

me  ! 
My  child ,  my  daughter,  Aidoneus  comes  ! 

PERSEPHONK. 

Dear  mother  !  long  ago  and  from  afar 
I  heard  the  chosen  chariot  and  the  steeds, 
The  impatient  messengers  of  one  who  waits. 
I  may  not  say,  weep  not  1  for  now  thou  know- 

est 

I  shall  return,  nor  leave  thee  comfortless; 
Thou  mayst  awake  and  sing,  thou  of  the  dust ! 
For  I  shall  ever  come  when  buds  shall  spring, 
When  the  warm  seed  is  quickened  in  the  earth, 
When  the  vines  dance  and  stretch  their  tendrils 

forth ! 

Nor  yet  the  same,  but  evermore  renewed, 
With  the  old  love  in  a  diviner  form. 
1  shall  return,  my  mother  —  shall  return  ! 

{Goes. 


RETURN  OF  PERSEPHONE.         185 

DEMETER  stands  gazing  after  the  chariot  which  bears 
her  away. 


DEMETKK. 


She  will  return,  my  darling  will  return  I 
Forever  changing,  evermore  the  same  ! 
O  ye  who  dwell  in  dust,  awake  and  sing  ! 
She  will  return,  my  darling  will  return  1 


NOT   BY  WILL  AND   NOT   BY 
STRIVING. 


NOT  BY  WILL,  AND  NOT  IN  STRIVING. 

i/  OT  by  will  and  not  in  striving 

Came  the  voices  to  the  singer,  — 
Came  the  strange  lamp  of  the  dawn- 
ing, —  . 

Nor  the  tears  that  fell  at  sundown ; 

Not  in  framing  tuneful  measures, 

Nor  because  of  light  or  darkness, 

Nor  of  silence  nor  of  noises, 

Leaped  the  music  that  subdued  him. 

Lost  in  some  forgotten  dream-land, 

Moving  over  h'elds  unplanted, 

Waving  golden  sheaves  of  glory, 

Such  as  spring  beside  the  fountains 

Of  the  lands  beyond  Kambala,  — 

Thus  his  song  would  come  unto  him, 

Find  the  singer,  who,  obedient, 

Labored  on  the  dusty  highway, 

Waiting  till  the  voice  should  call  him 

To  the  lofty  steeps  of  song-land, 

Where  death  is  not  nor  to-morrow. 


TRANSLATIONS, 

FROM    THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


ANACREON'S  GRAVE. 
[)ERE   where    the   roses    now   bloom, 
where  vines  round  the  laurel  are 
twining ; 

Here   where    the    turtle-doves   coo, 
where  the  blithe  cricket  is  heard,  — 
Who  lieth  here!     Whose  grave  is  thus  lovely 

with  life  and  adornment  ? 
Beautiful  gift  of  the  gods !    Here  doth  Anacreon 

sleep. 
Spring  and  summer  and  harvest  brought  joy  to 

the  glad-hearted  poet ; 

Safe   from   the   winter   and   snow   under   this 
hillock  he  lies. 


194 


UNDER    THE   OLIVE. 


MUSAGETES. 

FTEN  in  the  winter  midnight 
Called  I  on  the  gentle  Muses: 
Though  there  be  no  morning 

roses, 

And  no  light  of  day  appear, 
Bring  me  when  the  hour  cometh, 
Bring  the  lamp  that  softly  shining, 
Failing  Phoebus  and  Aurora, 
May  arouse  to  quiet  labor!  " 
Yet  they  left  me  to  my  dreaming, 
Suffered  me  to  sleep  unquickened, 
Every  sluggish  morning  followed 
By  a  day  thus  rendered  useless. 

But  as  soon  as  spring-time  opened, 
To  the  nightingales  thus  said  I: 
"  Dearest  nightingales,  complain  ye 
Early,  early  at  my  window, 
Wake  me  from  the  heavy  slumber 
Holding,  binding,  youth  so  strongly!  " 
But  the  singers,  full  of  loving, 
Lingered  all  night  round  my  window, 
Chanting  sweetest  melodies,  — 


TRANSLATIONS.  195 

Held  awake  the  soul  within  me, 
Stirred  my  new  and  tender  longings 
In  my  freshly-quickened  bosom. 
Thus  I  passed  the  night  in  listening, 
And  Aurora  found  me  sleeping,  — 
Yes,  the  sunshine  scarcely  waked  me. 

Now  at  last  is  come  the  summer, 
And  the  earliest  glint  of  morning 
Brings  the  busy  fly  whose  buzzing 
Rouses  me  from  pleasant  dreaming. 
Often  as  I  half  awaken, 
Brushing  her  away  impatient, 
She  returns  and  mercilessly 
Lures  her  unashamed  sisters  ; 
Driving  from  my  very  eyelids 
All  my  quiet  pleasant  slumber. 
Quickly  spring  I  from  my  pillow, 
Seek  for  the  beloved  Muses, 
Find  them  underneath  the  beeches, 
Where  they  joyfully  receive  me  ; 
And  the  troublous  little  insects 
Thank  I,  many  a  golden  hour. 
Be  ye  then,  ye  small  discomforts, 
Highly  by  the  poet  praised 
As  true  servants  of  Apollo. 


196 


UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE. 
HE  nightingale  has  gone  away, 
She-will  follow  back  the  spring  ; 
She  has  learned  nothing  new,  they 

say, 
But  the  old  songs  she  will  sing. 


PANDORA. 

A  FESTIVAL  PLAY. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


PROMETHEUS  i 
EPIMETUEUS  ] 

.     Sons  of  lapetus. 

PHILEROS      .    .    , 

,     Son  of  Prometheus. 

ELPORE          \ 

1  EPIMELEIA  j    ' 

,     Daughters  of  Epimetheus. 

Eos. 

PANDORA  .    .    .    , 

,     Wife  of  Epimetlieus 

DEMONS 

HELIOS. 

SMITHS. 

SHEPHERDS. 

FIELD-LABORERS. 

A  WARRIOR. 

ARTIFICERS. 

A  VINTNER 

A  FISHERMAN. 

EXCUSE,  the  offspring  of  AFTKHTIIDUGIIT. 


The  Scene  arranged  according  to  the  grand  style 
of  Poussin. 

PROMETHKUS*    SIDE. 

ON  the  left  of  the  beholder  rock  and  mountain,  on 
the  huge  banks  and  masses  of  which  natural  and  arti- 
ficial caves  are  built  up,  near  and  over  one  another, 
connected  by  manifold  paths  and  steps.  A  few  of 
these  caves  are  closed  at  the  entrance  by  pieces  of  rock, 
others  have  doors  and  bars,  all  rough  and  rude.  Here 
and  there  something  is  seen  built  with  regularity,  es- 
pecially the  underpinnings,  aiming  at  an  artistic  ar- 
rangement of  the  masses,  and  signifying  already  more 
convenient  dwellings,  though  devoid  of  symmetry. 
Climbing  plants  hang  over,  a  few  bushes  appear  here 
and  there  on  the  steeps ;  higher  up  they  become  thicker, 
and  end  at  length  in  a  vast  wood  which  crowns  the 
summit. 

EPIMETHEUS'    SIDE. 

OPPOSITE,  on  the  right,  a  building  of  wood,  severe 
in  style,  of  the  most  ancient  form  of  art  and  construc- 
tion, with  pillars  of  the  trunks  of  trees,  the  beams  and 
sills  rudely  squared  off.  In  the  entrance  hall  a  couch 
with  skins  and  covers.  Near  the  chief  building,  toward 


200  UNDER    THE   OLIVE. 

the  background,  similar  small  dwellings,  with  many 
arrangements  of  dry  walls,  planks,  and  fences  which 
hedge  about  the  different  possessions;  behind  them  the 
tops  of  fruit-trees  may  be  seen,  signs  of  well-kept  gar- 
dens. Scattered  around  many  buildings  of  the  same 
kind. 

In  the  background,  various  fields,  hills,  bushes,  and 
groves;  a  river,  with  cascades  and  windings,  flows 
down  into  a  bay,  which  in  the  foreground  is  surround- 
ed by  steep  rocks. 

The  horizon  line  of  the  sea,  broken  by  islands,  com- 
pletes the  whole. 


PANDORA. 

ACT  I. 
NIGHT. 

EPIMETIIEUS. 

(Stepping  forward  from  the  middle  of  the  landscape.) 

HTLDHOOD  and  days  of  youth  I  call 
.    ye  but  too  sweet! 
When,   after  turbulence  and  hours 

of  ceaseless  joy, 
Swift-footed    Sleep    may    grasp   and   hold    ye 

strong  embraced, 
While  wiping  out  each  line  the  mighty  Now 

hath  traced, 
The  past  and  future  mingle,  clad  in  shapes  of 

air. 

Such  comfort  now  is  far  from  me,  from  one 
grown  old : 


202  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

No  longer  day  and  night  divide  themselves  for 

me, 
The  ancient  burden   still  I  bear  of  mine  own 

name; 

For  Epimetheus  was  that  my  paients  chose, 
The  past  recalling  thus,  the  deeds  of  rashness 

done, 

Returning  thus,  in  difficult  play  of  the  thought, 
To  haunted  realms  where  dwell  the  ghosts  of 

what  might  be. 
So  bitter  was  the  task  that  weighed  upon  my 

youth, 
Impatient  I  plunged  on,  seizing  what  life  could 

give, 
And  thoughtless  caught  what  came,  grasping 

the  present  gift, 
And  found  new  cares  therein  with  a  new  weight 

of  pain. 
Thus  fleddest  thou  away,  thou  mighty  time  of 

youth, 

Forever  changing,  yet  consoling  in  thy  change, 
From  fullness  unto  need,  from  gladness  unto 

grief. 
Despair  before  the  wondrous  forms  of  fancy 

fled; 


PANDORA.  203 

I  slept  a  dreamless  sleep  after  both  sun  and        9 
storm. 

Now  do  I  wander  in  the  night  wakeful,  and 
glide  around, 

And  weep  the  fleeting  bliss  granted  to  mine 
who  sleep; 

I  fear  for  them  the  crowing  cock  and  morning- 
star 

Too  swift  in  shining.  Better  were  it  always 
night! 

Though  Helios  mightily  shake  his  glowing 
locks 

He  cannot  fill  with  light  the  pathways  of  man- 
kind. 

But  what  is  this  I  hear?  My  brother's  creak- 
ing door 

Thus  early  open!    Wakes  he  so  soon  the  doer? 

Impatient  for  his  task  does  he  already  light 

Again  the  hollow  hearth  with  work-inciting 
flame, 

And  call  the  sooty  crowd  to  share  that  happi- 
ness 

The  powerful  must  feel  who  beat  and  mould 
the  brass? 


204  UNDER  THE    OLIVE. 

Not  so!    Alight  swift  footstep  turning  hither 

comes, 
In    joyous    measure    timed    to   heart-uplifting 

song. 

PHILEROS. 

(Approaching  from  the  side  of  Prometheus.) 
To  the  air!    To  the  fresh  blowing  air,  let  me 

go! 
The  four  walls  oppress  me!    The  house  is  my 

foe! 
For  how  can  the  skins  of  my  couch  give  me 

pleasure  ? 

Or  rock  me,  a  fire,  to  dream  on  earth's  treas- 
ure? 

Neither  silence  nor  rest 
Has  the  lover  unblest. 
What  helps  it  though  lowly  his  head  may  be 

tying, 
And  tired,  his  limbs  are  stretched  out  like  one 

dying; 

His  heart  is  awake,  it  is  eager  and  bright, 
It  lives  a  live  day  in  the  dark  of  the  night. 

The  planets  look  down  with  their  tremulous 
glow, 


PANDORA.  205 

And  rejoice  in  the  joy  of  a  love  thai  they  know. 

To  seek  for  and  follow  the  blossoming  way 

Where  lately  she  sang  and  her  feet  loved  to 
stray ; 

Where  she  stood,  where  she  sat,  where  the  blue- 
arching  weather 

Of  the  vast  fragrant  heaven  enshrined  us  to- 
gether ; 

And  around  us  and  toward  us  the  flowers  of 
the  earth 

Came  nodding,  possessed  with  the  joy  of  new 
birth. 

There  yonder,  O  balm! 

Is  the  silence,  the  calm ! 

EriMETHEUS. 

What  mighty  hymn  comes  sounding  through  the 
night  to  me! 

PHILEROS.      • 

WThom  do  I  meet  so  soon,  who  wakens  thus  so 
earl}-  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Say,  Phileros,  is 't  thou?  I  seem  to  hear  thy 
voice. 


206  UNDER  THE    OLIVE. 

PHILEROS. 

Uncle,   'tis  I!      But  stay  me  not,   I  pray  of 
thee. 

EPI.METHEUS. 

But  whither  do?t  thou  go?     Thou  early  rising 
youth. 

PHILEROS. 

Upon  a  path  it  suiteth  not  for  age  to  tread. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

To  guess  the  -ways  of  youth  is  never  difficult. 

PHILEROS. 

Then  let  me  but  proceed,  and  ask  me  nothing 
more. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Confide  in  me!     The  lover  sometimes  counsel 
neeis. 

PHILEROS. 

He  stays  no  counsel,  nor  finds  room  for  con- 
fidence. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Yet  tell  me  but  the  name  of  her  who  is  thy 


PANDORA.  207 

PHILEK09. 

Her  name  and  parentage  are  both  concealed 
from  me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Even  this  will  bring  thee  woe,  to  injure  one 

unknown. 

PHILEROS. 
My  happy  pathway  darken  not,  O  thou  good 

man. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  fear  me  much  thy  feet  are  hastening  to  grief. 

PHILEROS. 

Pliileros,  go  on  to  the  blossoming  garden! 
Where  fullness  of  love  shall  be  thy  rich  guer- 
don; 

If  Eos,  the  .shy  one,  with  color  divine, 
Makes  the  curtain  to  blush  that  veils  the  pure 

shrine, 

Behind  her  own  curtain  my  darling  now  waits 
With  yet  ruddier  color,  —  toward  Helios'  gates 
Stands  gazing  for  me  over  garden  and  field, 
And  longing  for  what  the  future  may  yield. 
Thou  yearnest  for  me, 
As  I  strive  after  thee. 


208  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

EPIMETHEUS.     (Turns  to  the  tight  of  the  beholder.) 
0  happy  one,  go  on!    Thou  blest  one,  thither 

go! 

If  only  this  brief  journey  were  a  joy  to  thee 
Thou  wert  a  source  of  envy.     Shall  the  hour  of 

bliss 
Not  also  strike  for  thee?     Though  swiftly  it 

must  pass. 
So  was  it  once  with  me,  so  joyful  leaped  my 

heart, 

When  first  Pandora  hither  from  Olympus  came! 
Beautiful  and  all  gifted,  loftily  she  moved, 
Sublime  to  those  who  gazed,  asking  with  her 

sweet  face 
If  I  should  turn  her  off  as  my  stern  brother 

did. 

Already  was  my  bosom  deeply  stirred  by  her ; 
IVly  lovely  bride  I  took  with  senses  all  enslaved. 
Her  dowry,  also,  mystery-laden,  I  took  home 
In  earthen  vase  enclosed,  of  stateliest  design. 
It  stood  unopened  there.     The  fair  one  kindly 

brought 
It  me,  and  broke  the  heaven-made  seal,  and 

raised  the  lid. 
When  lo!  a  little  smokf  close  sl.ut  therein  arose, 


PANDORA.  209 

As  incense  should  arise   to  bear  the  Muse's 

praise, 
And  gayly  shone  one  starry  gleam  from  out  the 

mist, 
And   then    another  :    quickly   others   followed 

these. 
Then  I  looked  up  and  saw,  there  floating  on 

the  cloud, 
Delightful  phantasms,  godlike  figures,  crowding 

thick. 

Pandora  showed  them  me,  and  named  the  float- 
ing forms. 
"  Yonder,"  she  said,  "  thou  seest  where  happy 

Love  shines  high  !  " 
I  cried,  "  There  floats  it  !     How  !     Have  we  it 

not  with  us  !  " 

"  And  yonder,  Luxury,"  again  she  said,  "  I  see, 
Whose   wind-swept    garment   floats   wave-like 

after  her  feet. 
Still  loftier  there   stands,  with  earnest  lordly 

look, 

A  powerful  figure  pressing  forever  onward. 
And  opposite,  one  friendly,  seeking  favor,  sweet, 
Compelling,  full  of  eagerness,  and  pleased  with 

self, 

14 


210  UNDER   THE    OLIVE. 

A  pretty  face,  endeavoring  to  catch  thine  eye. 

Still  others,  mingling  melt,  and  each  in  each 
dissolve ; 

As  waves  the  smoke,  they  wave,  obedient  to 
the  air, 

Yet  each  desires  to  bring  a  pleasure  for  thy 

days." 

Then  cried  I:   "  All  in  vain  the  starry  host 
may  shine; 

In   vain   deceits   mist-painted,  worthy   of  de- 
sire! 

Pandora,  ihou,  the  only,  wilt  deceive  me  not! 

I  ask  no  other  joy,  whether  of  real  life, 

Or  fancy-painted;  only  stay  thou  ever  mine!  " 
Meanwhile  the  new-formed  choir  of  men  drew 
near  to  us, 

The  neophytes  nowjirst  gathered  for  our  fete; 

They  gazed  in  joy  upon  the   shining  forms  of 
air, 

And  snatched  and  strove  to  seize;  but  these 
again  more  swift 

In   motion,    could   not   yield    to   earthly   out- 
stretched hands, 

But    floating,    sometimes    up,   and    sometimes 
downward  sunk, 


PANDORA.  211 

Continually  deceived  the  crowd  that  followed 
them. 

While  I  with  trustfulness  and  speed  approached 
my  wife, 

And  made  mine  own  that  form  of  bliss  the  gods 
had  sent, 

Drawn  close  by  these  strong  arms  to  my  o'er- 
flowing  breast. 

The  blessedness  of  love  in  that  one  moment  felt, 

Immortal  made  the  lovely  fable  of  this  life. 

(lie  goes  to  the  couch  in  the  hall  and  places  himself 

upon  it.) 

Yonder  wreath  by  godlike  fingers 
Pressed  upon  Pandora's  ringlets, 
As  her  forehead  it  o'ershadowed, 
Lustre  of  her  eyes  subduing, 
Floats  before  my  soul  and  senses, 
Floats  as  she  herself,  long-vanished, 
Starry  vision,. over  me. 

No  more  holds  the  wreath  together; 
Torn  and  scattered  and  dispelled, 
Over  all  the  greening  meadows 
Richly  are  its  gifts  dispersed. 
(Drowsily.) 


212  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

O  how  gladly  would  I  bind  thee 

Once  again,  thou  lovely  garland! 

In  a  garland,  in  a  posy, 

Bind  thy  gifts,  O  Flora-Cypris! 

Now  no  longer  wreath  or  posy 

Stay  for  me;  they  fall  apart. 

Singly  dropping  flower  by  flower, 

Through  the  green  of  field  and  meadow; 

Plucking  go  I,  and  go  losing 

All  the  plucked,  how  quickly  vanished! 

Roses,  do  I  glean  your  beauty, 

Whither,  lilies,  are  ye  gone! 

[He  sleeps. 

PROMETHEUS. 

(A  torch  in  his  hand.) 

Thou  flaming  torch  more  early  than  the  morn- 
ing-star, 

Aloft  the  father's  hand,  a  herald,  hath  thee 
swung 

Of  day  before  the  day!  God-like  we  honor 
thee  ! 

For  every  industry  most  worthy  of  a  man 

Is  born  of  morning's  prime;  thus  only  day  af- 
fords 


PANDORA.  213 

Content  and  growth  and  full  delight  of  tired 
hours. 

The  evening  ashes'  holy  treasure  therefore  now 

Do  I  unveil  and  waken  to  a  fresher  glow, 

Illuminating  thus  my  strong  work-loving  men. 

Thus,  brass-subduers,  do  I  call  on  ye  aloud. 

Your  right  arms  lightly  lift,  swaying  and  keep- 
ing time 

In  one  vast  hammer-chorus,  ringing  loud  and 
swift, 

And  from  the  molten  store  abundance  take  for 
use. 

(Many  caves  open,  many  fires  beyin  to  burn,) 


Now  kindle  the  fire! 
No  power  is  higher. 
He  braved  the  gods'  ire 
Who  snatched  it  and  fled. 
He  who  first  kindled  it, 
He  was  allied  to  it, 
Rounded  and  formed  with  it 
Crowns  for  the  head. 


214  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Water  that  only  flows, 

Guided  as  Nature  knows, 

From  the  rocks  through  the  meadows; 

Wherever  it  goes, 

Follow  cattle  and  men. 

Fishes  are  swarming  there, 

Birds  are  reflected  there, 

Theirs  is  the  flood; 

Water  unstable, 

Now  sunny,  now  sable, 

If  one  who  knoweth  her 

Sometimes  controlled!  her, 

That  find  we  good. 

Thou,  earth,  who  standest  fast, 

Though  into  torture  cast, 

Men  hack  thee  and  pain  thee! 

For  gain  do  they  rend  theel 

And  for  their  pride. 

Slaves  to  their  sweaty  doom, 

All  scarred  and  seamed  they  roam, 

Rending  thy  fair  sweet  home  : 

And  where  no  flowerets  bloom 

Thee  do  they  chide. 


PANDORA.  215 

Stream  ye,  O  air  and  light, 
Far  from  my  eager  sight  1 
Keep  ye  no  fire  bright,   . 
Worth  ye  have  none. 
When  round  the  hearth  ye  play, 
We  bid  ye  welcome  stay; 
Your  place  is  won. 
Being  in  ye  may  not  out, 
Dance  ye  the  flames  about, 
Till  all  is  done. 

Quick  to  the  labor  fly ! 
Now  flames  the  fire  high, 
Now  beats  against  the  sky; 
Calm  stands  the  father  by 
Who  snatched  it  and  fled. 
He  who  first  kindled  it, 
He  was  allied  to  it, 
Rounded  and  formed  with  it, 
Crowns  for  the  head. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  active  man  finds  comfort  in  his  favorite 

view ! 
And  thus  it  pleases  me  to  hear  the  praise  of 

fire 


216  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Before  all  elements,  ignoring  others'  worth. 
Ye  who  now  look  within,  and   see  the  anvil 

work, 
And  mould  the  hard  brass,  even  as  the  mind 

suggests, 
Thus   do  I  rescue  ye  from  mine  own  ruined 

race,  — 
From  those  who  reach  for  shapes  of  mist  with 

drunken  eyes 

And  open  arms,  striving  to  grasp  and  to  attain 
What  may  not  be  attained;  or,  what  if  it  were 

reached 
Were  neither  use  nor  joy;  but  ye  are  useful 

ones. 
Unyielding  mountains  may  not  stand  against 

your  power, 
The  brazen  hills  must  fall  beneath  your  levers' 

might, 

And  molten,  quickly  fly  into  a  tool  transformed, 
A   double  hand;    a  hundred   fold    increasing 

strength. 
The    swinging    hammers   weld,    the    dextrous 

tongs  hold  fast; 
Thus  single  force  and  powers  combined  shall 

still  advance 


PANDORA.  217 

By  aid  of  industry  and  wisdom,  without  end. 

What  might  can  work  and  subtlety  suggest 
may  be 

Brought  onward  farther  to  perfection  by  your 
skill; 

Alert  and  conscious,  therefore,  keep  to  daily 
work. 

The  crowds  of  your  posterity  even  now  ap- 
proach, 

Desiring  the  complete  and  worshipping  the 
rare. 

SHEPHERDS. 

Climb  up  the  mountain  height, 
Follow  the  streamlet  bright, 
Where  the  rough  steep  doth  bloom, 
"Where  the  spring  flowers  find  room, 
There  drive  your  flock. 

Everywhere  let  them  browse 
Clover  or  dewy  boughs, 
Wandering  after  sweetest  food, 
Tripping,  dumb  and  joyous  brood, 
Where  it  pleaseth  them. 


218  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

FIRST  SHEPHERD  (to  the  Smiths). 
O,  mighty  brothers,  see 
We  need  your  aid ! 
We  ask  a  knife  of  ye, 
Sharpest  is  made! 
Syrinx  must  sorrow! 
Reeds  we  must  borrow! 
Give  us  the  best  there  is! 
Good  make  the  steel! 
Our  joy  and  praise  for  this 
Your  heart  shall  feel. 

SECOND  stiEi'HEUi)  (to  the  Smith). 

Thou  hast  for  weaklings 
Tenderly  cared, 

Hast  done  even  more  than  that  - 
With  them  hast  shared. 
Give  us  thy  brazen  craft, 
Steel  broad  and  keen, 
Turning  our  shepherd's  crook 
Into  a  foeman's  shaft. 

Then  we  may  meet  the  wolf, 
Or  man,  unfriendly; 
For  even  the  friendly 


PANDORA.  219 

Like  not  to  have 

Their  rights  interfered  with: 

Both  feeble  and  brave 

Contests  must  see; 

He  who  no  soldier  is, 

He  shall  no  shepherd  be. 

THIRD  SHEPHERD  (to  the  Smith). 
Who  would  a  shepherd  be 
Long  hours  are  his, 
Many  stars  he  may  see, 
The  leaf  his  whistle  is. 
The  tree  may  give  us  leaves, 
The  moor  may  give  us  reeds, 
But  come,  thou  artist  smith, 
Thou  canst  serve  our  needs! 
Give  us  the  iron  reeds, 
Pointed  for  the  lips, 
Slender  as  leafy  tips! 
Louder  than  singing  words 
Rings  it  afar; 
Maidens  who  listening  are 
Hear  the  sweet  chords. 

[The  shepherds  divide,  with  music  and  song,  in  the 

landscape. 


220  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Though  ye  may  wander  peaceful,  peace  ye  may 
not  find; 

One  fate  were  then  decreed,  alike  for  man  and 
beast; 

A  better  lot  I  pictured  for  the  race  of  men, 

That  one  against  the  other,  singly  or  combined, 

Should  stand  opposed,  and,  hating  each,  should 
each  compel 

To  manifest  himself  the  one  superior. 

Take  courage,  therefore.  Children  of  one  fa- 
ther ye ! 

Who  stands,  or  falls,  can  be  to  him  but  little 
care. 

A  race  remains  to  him,  increasing  still  in  power, 

Which  ever  plots  and  plans  to  spread  itself 
abroad ; 

Too  crowded  is  the  growth,  and  far  too  thickly 
pressed. 

Now  do  they  draw  apart  and  master  all  the 
world. 

How  blessed  is  the  moment  of  the  wild  fare- 
well! 

Ye   smiths   and   friends!      Now   only   arms 
make  ye  for  me; 


PANDORA.  221 

To-day  let  go  the  wants  that  thoughtful  plough- 
men f«.-el, 

Or  what    from   ye  the   fisher-people  may  de- 
mand. 

Make  only  weapons!     Then  ye   have   accom- 
plished all, 

And   for   your  hardiest   sons   full   satisfaction 
heaped. 

But  first,  to  ye  who  painful  strive  through  hours 
of  dark, 

A    festival    of  rest  !      For    he    who    nightly 
works 

He  shall  enjoy  when  others  early  go  to  toil. 
(Approaches  the  sleeping   Epimetheus.) 

But  thou,  my  sole  twin-brother,  dost  thou  rest 
thee  here  ? 

Night   wanderer  weighed  down  by  care   and 
bitter  thought ! 

I  pity  thee,  and  yet  I  praise  thy  destiny. 

Endurance  is  our  lot !  laboring  or  suffering. 


SMITHS. 

He  who  first  kindled  it, 
He  was  allied  to  it, 


222  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Rounded  and  formed  with  it 
Crowns  for  the  heaa. 
[They  disappear  in  the  caves,  which  close  behind  them. 

EPLMETHEUS. 

(Sleeping  in  the  open  hatt.) 


(The  morning-star  upon  her  head,  in  airy  raiment, 
rises  behind  the  hill.) 

EPIMETHEUS  (dreaming). 
I  see  the  constellations  coming  thick ! 
One  star  shines  brightly  out  above  the  rest! 
What  rises  there  so  swift  behind  the  star? 
What  lovely  crowned  head  doth  it  illume? 
Not  all  unknown  I  see  her  moving  on, 
The  slender,  delicate,  and  gracious  form. 
Is  't  thou,  Elpore? 

ELPORE  (from  afar). 

Dear  father,  yes. 
To  cool  thy  brow  I  hither  breathe  to  thee. 

EPLMETHEUS. 

Step  this  way,  come. 


PANDORA.  223 

BLPORE. 

'T  is  not  allowed  to  me. 


EPIMETHEUS. 

A  little  nearer  1 

ELFORE  (approaching). 
So  then  ? 


EPIMETHEUS. 

Yesl  still  nearer. 


ELPORE  (very  close}. 
Thus? 

El'LMETIIEUS. 

No  longer  do  I  know  thee  1 


ELPOKE. 


So  I  thought  (drawing  away)  1     But  now? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Yes!    'T  is  thou,  beloved  maiden, 
Whom  thy  departing  mother  tore  from  me. 
Where  dost  thou  stay  ?     Come  here  to  thy  old 
father. 


224  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

ELPORE  (stepping  nearer). 
I  come,  my  father,  yet  it  serves  for  nought. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

What  lovely  child  is  this  so  near  to  me? 

ELPORE. 

She  whom  thou  know'st  and  know'st  not  is  thy 
daughter. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Then  come  into  my  arms  ! 

ELPORE. 

You  cannot  hold  me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Then  kiss  me. 

ELPORE  (at  his  head). 

I  kiss  thy  brow 
With  gentle  lips  (departing).    Now  am  I  gone. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Whither  1     Whither! 


PANDORA.  225 

ELPORE. 

I  go  to  look  for  lovers. 

EPIMKTIIEUS. 

Wherefore  to  seek  them  ?  They  can  need  thee 
not. 

ELPORE. 

Ah  yes!    They  need  me,  no  one  needs  me  more. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Then  promise  me! 

ELPORE. 

What  shall  I  promise?    What? 

EPIMKTHEUS. 

The  joy  of  love,  —  returning  of  Pandora. 

ELPORE. 
The  impossible  it  suits  me  well  to  promise. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

And  will  sue  come  again? 


15 


ELPORE. 

Yes!     Truly,  yes! 


226  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

(To  the  beholders.) 

Ye  good  people!     Such  a  gentle, 
Sympathetic  heart  the  gods  have 
Placed  within  my  youthful  bosom, 
What  ye  will  and  what  ye  long  for 
Never  can  I  quite  deny  ye, 
And  from  me,  good-hearted  maiden, 
Ye  shall  only  hear  a  "  Yes." 

Ah  !     Behold  the  other  demons 
Disobliging  and  unkindly, 
Shrieking  ever,  interrupting, 
Malice-born,  a  bitter  "  No." 

Yet  the  morning  breezes'  sighing 
Do  I  hear,  and  the  cock  crowing ! 
I,  the  child  of  morn,  must  hasten,  — 
Hasten  to  the  waking  ones. 

Yet  how  can  I  thus  forsake  ye! 
Do  ye  wait  for  something  tender? 
For  a  sweet  assenting  word? 

Hear  the  storming !     Hear  the  rasing ! 
Are  the  waves  of  morning  roaring? 


PANDORA.  227 

Do  the  feet  of  Helios'  horses 
Stamp  behind  the  golden  portals? 

No!     The  murmuring  waves  of  being, 
Rushing  of  ungoverned  wishes, 
From  the  depth  of  hearts  o'erfreighted,  — 
These  come  surging  up  to  uie. 

Ah  !     What  will  ye  from  the  maiden  ? 
Ye,  unresting,  ye,  the  striving ! 
Riches  will  ye,  power  and  honor, 
Gold  and  grandeur?     These,  the  maiden, 
Gifts  like  these  she  cannot  give  ye,  — 
All  her  gifts  and  all  her  accents, 
Every  one  is  maidenly. 

Would  ye  power?     The  powerful  have  it. 
Would  ye  riches?     Grasp  and  hold  them  ! 
Splendor?    Deck  ye  !    Influence?   Cringe,  then! 
Hope  ye  not  to  have  such  bounties  : 
Who  desires  them,  let  him  seize  them  ! 

All  is  still !     Yet  hear  I  clearly, 
While  I  bend  mine  ear,  a  sighing, 
Whispering. — yes,  a  lisping,  sighing, — 
O  it  is  the  voiee  of  Love  ! 


228  UNDER   THE  OLIVE. 

Turn  thyself  to  me,  bclovbdl 
See  in  me  the  sweet,  the  true  one, 
Of  thine  own  beloved  the  vision ! 

Speak  as  thou  to  her  hadst  spoken 
If  she  stood  before  thee  smiling, 
And  those  lips  which  have  been  silent 
Might  and  would  confess  to  thee. 

< '  Will  she  love,  then  ?  "     Ah ,  yes  !     "  Me  ?  " 

Yes!       - 
"Will  be  mine?"     Yes.     "  Constant?  say  !" 

Yes! 

"  Shall  we  come  once  more  together?  " 
Ah,  yes  !     "  Bind  our  troth  together?  " 
44  Not  to  part?  "     Yes,  truly  yes  ! 
(She  veils  herself  and  fades  away  while  she  repeats) 

Truly,  yes  ! 

EriMETHEUS. 

How  sweet,  O  lovely  dream-world  I     But  thou 

fad'st  away  ! 

( The  piercing  shrieks  of  a  woman  come,  from  the  gar- 
den.) 


PANDORA.  229 

EPIMETIIEUS  (springing  up). 

How  fearful  falls  the  voice  of  pain  when  one 
first  wakes. 

(Repeated  shrieks.) 

A  woman   shrieking  !   flying  !   nearer  !   nearer 
still  ! 

EPIMELEIA  (inside  the  garden,  close  by  the  hedge). 
Ai !  Ai  !    Woe,  woe  to  me  !    Woe  !   Ai  !   Ai  1 
Woe  to  me  ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Epimeleia's  voice:  she  is  close  behind  the  hedge. 

EPIMELEIA  (hastily  leaping  over). 

Woe!     Murder  and  death!     Ai!     Woe  to  the 
murderer ! 

PHILEROS  (springing  after). 
In  vain  !     Already  do  I  seize  thy  braided  hair. 

EPIMELEIA. 

Upon  my  neck,  alas!  the  murderer's  breath  I 
feel. 


230  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PHILEROS. 

Feel  rather  at  thy  neck,  traitress,   the  axe'a 
edge  ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Off  !     Daughter,  thee  I  free,  if  guilty  or  guilt- 
«  less. 

EPIMELEIA  (sinking  down  at  the  left  side). 

0  father  !     Like  a  god  a  father  is  to  us  ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Who  so  audacious  from  this    precinct    drives 
thee  ? 

PHILEROS  (at  the  right  of  Epimetheus). 

Protect    ye   not  a  shameless  woman's   cursed 
head. 

EPIMETHEUS  (protecting  her  with  his  mantle). 

1  save   her,    murderer,   from    thee   and    every 


PHILEROS  (going  round  to  the  left  of  Epimetheus). 

But  I  will  strike  her  even  under  thy  mantle's 
night. 


PANDORA.  231 

EPIMELEIA  (turning  and  throwing  herself  on  the  right 
of  her  father). 

O   father  !     I   am   lost  !     Save    me    from  vio- 
lence ! 

PHILEROS  (behind  Epimetkeus,  turning  to  the  right). 
The  knife  may  miss,  perchance,  yet  missing  it 
shall  strike. 

(He  wounds  Epimeleia  in  the  neck.) 

EPIMELEIA. 

Ai!    Ai!    Woe  is  me! 

EPIMETHEUS  (averting  the  blows). 

Woe  to  us!     Violence! 

PHILEROS. 

But  scratched !  soon  wider  doors  I  '11  open  for 
thy  soul! 

EPIMELEIA. 

0  misery!  misery  1 

EPIMETHEUS  (defending  her). 

Help  !     Woe  to  us  !     Woe  ! 


232  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS  (cominff  quickly  Jorward). 
What  cry  of  murder  do  I  hear  in  this  still  place  ? 

EPIMKTHEUS. 

Help,  brother  !     Hasten  to  us  with  thy  mighty 
arm. 

EPIMELEIA. 

Quicken  thy  hurrying  steps!  Hasten,  deliverer! 
here! 

PHILEROS. 

Finish,  O  hand!  and  let  deliverance  lag  behind. 

PROMETHEUS  (stepping  between  them). 
Go  back,  thou  wretched   man!     Thou  foolish 

raver,  back! 

Is  it  thou,  Phileros?   Madman,  I  hold  thee  fast. 
[He  seizes  him. 

PHILEROS. 

My  father,  let  me  go!    Thy  presence  I  respect. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  father's  absence  also  honors  the  good  son. 
I  hold  thee  now!  —  here  in  the  grasp  of  my 
strong  fist,  — 


PANDORA.  233 

That  ye  may  learn  how  crime  first  seizes  upon 

men, 
And  wise  power  holds  at  once  the  evil  doer 

fast. 
To  murder  here!  the  unarmed!     Go  hence  to 

rob  and  fight 

Whither  unrule  is  rule!     For  where  the  law- 
yet  reigns, 
Where  parents'  will  itself  is  law,  there  thou  art 

naught. 
Hast  thou  not  seen  these  chains,  these  mighty 

brazen  chains? 
From  metal  forged  for  the  twin  horns  of  the 

wild  bull? 
Yet  for  the  unrestrained  of  human-kind  more 

fit! 
Thy  limbs  shall  be  weighed  down  by  them;  a 

clanking  noise 
Shall    mark    thy   footsteps'   wheresoever   thou 

shalt  go. 

And  yet  what  need  of  chains?     Thou  art  con- 
victed now, 
Condemned!     Go   yonder,   seek  and   find  the 

craggy  rocks 
Far  over  sea  and  land  where  justly  we  fling 

down 


234  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

The  madman,  who  like  beast  or  like  blind  ele- 
ment, 
Reckless  and  headlong  drives  to  perish  in  the 

void. 

(He  sets  him  free.) 

But  now  I  loose  my  grasp!  Out  with  thee,  get 
thee  hence! 

Repent  thou  mayst,  or  be  thyself  thy  punish- 
ment. 

PHILEROS. 

Thus  thinkest  thou,  father,  thy  duty  is  done 

If  the  course  of  inflexible  justice  be  run? 

And  countest  thou  nothing  the  infinite  power 

Which  brought  me,  once  happy,  to  this  wretched 
hour? 

What  lies  on  the  ground  in  this  bloody  dis- 
tress ? 

'Tis  my  lady,  'tis  she  I  obeyed,  I  confess. 

These  hands  that  now  struggle,  these  arms  now 
fear-shaken, 

These  arms  and  these  hands  are  the  same  love 
hath  taken. 

Why  shudder,  ye  lips?  Why  complainest, 
thou,  breast? 

Ye  are  signals  unspoken  of  treacherous  quest. 


PANDORA.  235 

Treacherous,  yes!     What  she  sacredly  gave, 
She  granted  a  second,  a  third  might  yet  have. 
Now  tell  me,    O  father,    who  gave   at  her 

birth 

This  one  fearful  perfected  power  to  earth? 
And  who  brought  her  hither,  by  what  hidden 

way 

Came  she  from  Olympus,  or  Hades,  astray? 
Far  sooner  from  destiny's  hand  mayst  thou  fly 
Than  escape  the  devouring  glance  of  her  eye ; 
Far  sooner.the  fates'  unavoidable  snare 
Than    the  entangling  meshes  of   that  flowing 

hair; 

Far  sooner  Sahara's  bewildering  stress 
Than    the   restless    environing   waves    of    her 

dress. 

(Epimetheus  has  raised  Epimeleia  and  brought  her 
round  consolingly  in  such  manner  that  her  posture 
suits  the  words  of  Phileros.) 
Can  this  be  Pandora?     Her   thou   hast   seen 

once, 

The  undoing  of  fathers,  the  woe  of  the  sons; 
Hephaistos    adorned   her   with    splendors    un- 
told, 
Therein  the  gods  ruin  enwove  with  each  fold. 


236  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

How   bright   shone   the  vase!     O   how   fairly 

*t  was  wrought! 
Wherefrom    heaven    poured    the    bewildering 

draught. 
What  hides  in  this  coyness  ?     The  boldness  of 

wrong ; 
Unfaith   here   lies   hid   beneath   laughter  and 

song; 
The  light  of  her  face,  mock  and  jesting  are 

found  : 
Under  breasts   of  a  goddess    the   heart   of   a 

hound. 

0  tell  me  I  lie!     Only  say  she  is  pure! 

More    welcome    unreason    than   reason   made 

sure. 

From  unreason  to  reason  how  joyous  the  way, 
From   reason  to  unreason  !    what   grief,  what 

dismay! 
Now  is  your  stern  command  the  breath  of  my 

breath; 

1  fly  to  fulfill  it,  I  seek  but  for  death ; 
Deep  down  to  her  life  she  sucked  my  life  in, 
There  now  remains  nothing  to  lose  or  to  win. 

[Got*. 


PANDORA.  237 

PROMETHEUS  (to  Epimeleio). 

Art  thou   ashamed  !     Dost   thou    confess   the 
charge  he  makes? 

EriMETIIEUS. 

Perplexed  indeed  am  I  by  what  has  happened 


EPIMELEIA  (stepping  between  the  two). 
Undisturbed,  as  one,  together  wandering; 
Circling  planets  shine  on  us  below  them; 
Moonlight  touches  all  the  peaks  above  us; 
In  the  foliage  stir  the  little  breezes, 
To  the  breezes  whispers  Philomela, 
Breathes  the  gladness  of  her  youthful  bosom, 
Wakened  fresh  from  happy  dreams  of  spring- 
time. 

Why,  ye  gods,  O  why  is  all  unending 
Save  our  happiness,  all,  all,  unending  ! 
Light  of  stars,  the  moon  with  her  soft  shimmer, 
Cooling  shadows,  water's  fall  and  murmur, 
All  unending,  save  alone  our  gladness. 

Hear  how  sweet !     Upon  a  folded  leaflet 
Placed  between  his  lips  the  shepherd  whistles; 


238  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

Cheerful  prelude  of  the  midday  cricket 
Early  spreading  wide  throughout  the  meadows. 
Yet  is  music  of  the*  chorded  lyre 
Different  to  the  heart:  to  that  we  listen, 
Saying,  who  wanders  thitherward  so  early? 
Who  to  golden  strings  can  sing  so  ably? 
Thus  the  maiden  questions,  now  she  opens 
Quick  the  shutter,  listens  at  the  casement, 
And  the  youth  marks;  there  is  -Some  one  stir- 
ring ! 

Who?     He  longs  to  know  and  lingers  spying; 
So  both  linger  spying  at  each  other; 
Each  the  other  sees  in  twilight  glimmer. 
What  is  seen  they  think  enough  is  known  of, 
What  they  know,  of  that  they  wish  possession. 
Longing  fills  their  heart,  their  arms  outstretch- 
ing 

Soon  embrace;  it  is  a  holy  compact; 
Hearts  are  glad  in  light  of  this  fulfilling. 

Why,  ye  gods,  ah  why  is  all  unending 
All  unchanging,  save  alone  our  gladness! 
Light  of  stars,  and  love's  dear  affirmation; 
Gleam  of  moon,  and  love's  complete  confiding; 
Depth  of  shade,  and  love's  inviolate  longing,  — 
All  unending,  only  ends  our  gladness. 


PANDORA.  239 

Leave  my  bleeding  wound!    O  leave  it,  father! 
Slowly  the  thickening  stream  will  stay  itself; 
Let  alone,  the  wound  will  soon  be  healing ; 
But  the  heart's  blood  stagnant  in  the  bosom, 
Will  that  current  ever  be  set  flowing? 
Stricken  heart,  wilt  thou  renew  thy  beating? 

He  is  fled!    Thy  sternness  drove  him  from  us. 
Ah!  I  could  not  stay  him,  the  rejected, 
While  he  raved  at  me  and  cursed  blaspheming. 
Welcome  now,  despite  his  rage  and  cursing; 
For  he  loved  me  even  while  he  scorned  me; 
I  was  sweet  to  him  even  while  he  cursed  me: 
Why  did  he  mistake  thus  his  beloved? 
Will  he  live  that  he  mny  come  to  know  her? 

Left  unlatched  for  him  the  garden  wicket, 
I  confess;  for  why  should  I  deny  it? 
Trouble  conquers  shame.    A  shepherd,  straying, 
Pushed  the  gate  and  opened  it  exploring  ; 
Bold  and  stealthy,  soon  the  garden  found  he 
Where  I  waited  ;   there  he  seized  upon  me ; 
In  an  instant  found  himself  was  captured 
By  one  closely  following.     This  one  left  me, 
Turned  and  fled,  though  he  was  followed  swiftly 


240  UXDER  THE   OLIVE. 

After,  whether  slain  or  not,  what  know  I? 

Phileros  then  chased  me,  pouring  curses 

On  my  footsteps  ;  I  sprang  flying 

Through*  the  bush  and  blossoms  till  the  hedge- 
row 

Stopped  me;  then,  fear- winged,  I  leaped  me 
over 

Into  the  open  country:  quickly  also 

Leaped  he  over;  all  the  rest  ye  know  of. 

Dearest  father!     Has  Epimeleia 
Suffered  for  thee  many  days  of  trouble, 
Sadly  now  she  beareth  her  own  sorrow, 
And  remorse  comes  dogging  sorrow's  footsteps. 
Still  my  cheeks  may  blush  from  Eos'  kisses, 
But  no  more  from  his!  and  Helios  lighten 
Pleasant  paths  he  never  more  may  visit. 
Let  me  go,  O  fathers,  and  be  hidden  ; 
Scorn  me  not  forlorn,  nor  still  my  weeping ; 
Ah,  what  sadness!     Ah,  what  grief  unending! 
Losing  of  a  love  so  wholly  granted! 

PHOMETHKUS. 

Who  is  this  child  divine,  wearing  this  noble 
form? 


PANDORA.  241 

Like  to  Pandora,   though  she  more  cai'essing 

seems 
And  lovelier;   HER  beauty  almost  terrified. 

EPIMBTHKUS. 

Pandora's    daughter   proudly   do   I   claim    for 

mine. 
Epimeleia  did  we  name  the -thoughtful  child. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Why  didst  thou  hide  from  me  thy  bliss  of  fath- 
erhood ? 

EPIMETUEUS. 

Estranged  was  I  from  thee,   O  thou  most  ex- 
cellent ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Because  of   her  whom  I  did  not  receive  with 
love. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Her  whom  you  sent  away,  and  whom  my  heart 
took  home. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Didst  thou  give  refuge,  then,  unto  the  danger- 


242  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The   heavenly  one!   avoiding  brothers'   bitter 
feud. 

PROMETHEUS. 

How  long  remained   the  fickle  one  true  unto 
thee? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Her  image  still  is  true:  it  stands  forever  near. 

PROMETHEUS. 

And  in   her  daughter's  presence  tortures  thee 
afresh. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Even  grief  itself  for  such  a  treasure  is  delight. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  hands  of  man  can  treasures  daily  find  for 
him. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Unworthy  they,  if  he  find  not  the  highest  good. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  highest  good!  methinks  all  good  to  me  is 
like. 


PANDORA.  243 

EPIMETHEUS. 

All,  no!  one  passes  all,  and  this  one  I  have 
had! 

PROMETHEUS. 

I   seem  to  guess  the  path  by  which  thou  goest 
astray. 

EPIMETIIEUS. 

I  do  not  go  astray ;  the  right  path  beauty  takes. 

PROMETHEUS. 

In  form  of  woman  all  too  lightly  she  misleads. 

El'IMETJIEUS. 

Thou    formest  women   which    in    no  way  can 
mislead. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Yet  are  they  shaped  of  finest  clay,  even  the 
most  rude. 

EPIMETHKUS. 

Foredestined  by  the  man   to  serve  him   as  his 
slave. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Then  be  a  servant,  thou,  who  scorn'st  the  faith- 
ful maid. 


244  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

EPIMKTHEUS. 

I  cease  to  answer  thee ;  what  on  ray  heart  and 

sense 
Is  graven,  in  the  silence  gladly  I  rehearse. 

0,  memory!    what    god-like    power  indeed   is 

thine! 

Again  dost  thou  restore  her  young  and  noble 
form. 

PROMETHEUS. 

1,  too,  recall  her  lofty  form  from  out  the  past; 
Hephaistos    himself    could   not   succeed    thus, 

twice. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

But  why  must  thou  rehearse  this  fable  of  her 

birth? 
From    out   the  god -like  old  Titanic   race   she 

sprang ; 
Urania's  child,  sister  of  Here  and  of  Zeus. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Yet  thoughtfully  Hephaistos  her  grace  adorned; 
A  golden  head-net  first  he  wove  with  skillful 

hand, 
The  finest  threads  enwrought  in  various  colors 

knit. 


PANDORA.  245 

EPIMETHEUS. 

This  sacred  confine  could  not  hold  her  flowing 

hair, 
That  brown,  abounding,  and  defiant  wealth  of 

hair  ; 
One  flaming  lock  rose  shining  from  above  her 

brow. 

PROMETHEUS. 

And  therefore  did  he  wind  about  it  well- wrought 
chains. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

She  wove  that  wondrous  hair  herself  in  shining 

braids, 
Which,    serpent  like,    unbound,   down   to  her 

ankles  fell. 

PUOMETHEUS. 

Her  diadem  no  rival  had  save  Aphrodite's! 
Like  fire,  beyond  all  words  to  tell,  it  strangely 
shone. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  only  see  where  the  familiar  garland  droops 
With  full-blown  flowers  to  hide  her  forehead 
and  her  brows, 


246  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

The  envious  ones  ;  as  warriors  do  their  arch- 
ers hide 

With  shields,  so  cover  they  the  arrows  of  her 
eyes. 

PROMETHEUS. 

I   saw  that  garland  was  confined  by  chain-like 

bands, 
Which  round  her  shoulders  lightly  curled  and 

fluttered  down. 

EPIMKTHEUS. 

The  white  pearls  of  her  ears  still  float  before 

my  sight 
As  freely  in  its  grace  she  turned  her  noble  head. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  threaded  gifts  of  Amphitrite  bound  her 

throat. 
And  then  her  garments'  blooming  field,  how 

wonderful ! 
Her  bosom  veiled  with  varied  splendors  rich  as 

spring. 

KPIMETHEUS. 

Upon  that  bosom  where,  I,  happy,  have  been 
clasped ! 


PANDORA.  247 

PROMETHEUS. 

Above  all   things,   the  girdle's  art   is   worthy 
praise. 

EPIMETHKUS. 

That  very  girdle  which  I  loving  have  unloosed! 

PROMETHEUS. 

First  learned  I  from  the  dragon  which  her  arm 

enwound 
How,  serpent-like,  hard  metal  may  contract  and 

stretch. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

And  me,  with  these  affectionate  arms  she  hath 
embraced. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Her  slender  hand  was  greatened  by  her  daz- 
zling rings. 

KPIMETHEUS. 

That   hand   outstretched  so  often    giving   my 
heart  joy. 

PKOMKTHEUS. 

Did  not  her  skill  in  art  rival  Athene's  power? 


248  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  know  not:  her  soft  fingers  brought  me  but 
caressing. 

PROMETHKUS. 

Her  mantle   was    quite   worthy   of    Athene's 
loom. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

It  swelling  moved  behind  her  steps  in  shimmer- 
ing waves. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  dazzling  edge  confused  even  the  keenest 
eye. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

She  drew  the  world  upon  the    path  that  she 
would  go. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Enwroucrht  were  giant  flowers,  a  horn  of  plenty 
each. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Rich  cups  from  whence  leaped  out  quick  creat- 
ures of  the  chase. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  roe  sprang  forth  to  fly,  tlu>  lion  (o  pursue. 


PANDORA.  249 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Who  looked  upon  her  robe,  her  moving  foot 

once  seen, 
Responsive  like  the  hand  answering  the  touch 

of  love  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Here,  too,  unwearied,  showed  the  artist's  fur- 
ther skill; 

Her  footstep  speeding  with  soft  yielding  soles 
of  gold. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Like  one  with  wings  !  she  hardly  seemed  to 
touch  the  earth. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  golden  lacings  lightly  clasped  her  ankles 
round. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Recall  not  back  to  me  the  splendor  of  her 
form! 

To  her,  all-gifted,  I  had  nothing  more  to  give  : 

The  fairest,  richest  in  adornment,  she  was 
mine! 

I  gave  myself  to  her,  and  thus  first  found  my- 
self. 


250  UNDER    THE   OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

And  still  unhappy,  thus  she  tears  thee  from 
thyself ! 

EFIMETHEUS. 

And  yet,  forever  is  she  mine,  the  shining  one! 

The  fullness  of  blessedness,  this  have  I  found! 
Beauty's  self  I  possessed,  by  her  I  was  bound; 
With  Spring,  her  attendant,  she  stepped  gayly 

on, 
I  knew  her  and  grasped  her,  and  fate's  work 

was  done! 

As  the  mist  of  delusion  is  chased  by  the  sun, 
She  drew  me  from  earth,  and  our  heaven  was 

won. 

Thou   seekest  for  words  the  most  worthy  to 

praise  her; 
Would st  thou  place  her  on  high,  higher  yet  her 

steps  raise  her; 
With  the  best  wouldst  compare  her,  how  bad 

seems  the  best  ; 
She  speaks,  has  found  truth,  while  thy  mind  is 

in  quest. 


PANDORA.  251 

She  wins  even  while  ye  contend  in  hot  zest ; 
Thou  wouhlst  serve  her,  already  her  slave  thou 
dost  rest. 

Love  and  goodness  are  each  in  her  shape  to  be 

seen. 
What   use   is  high    station  ?      She    maketh    it 

mean. 
She  stands  at  the  goal,  and  she  wingeth  the 

flight; 
If   she   crosses    thy    path,    she    stays    thee    at 

sight. 
A  bargain  wouldst-drive,  gives  the  price  a  new 

height, 
Thy  wealth  and  thy  wisdom  must  purchase  her 

right. 

Descending  she  takes  varied  forms  as  her  shield ; 

She  floats  on  the  water,  she  walks  in  the  field  ; 

Her  bearing,  her  voice,  are  of  standards  di- 
vine, 

And  the  form  doth  but  render  the  essence  more 
fine ; 

She  gives  unto  both  of  all  nature's  best  wine; 

A  woman  and  young,  it  is  thus  she  was  mine! 


232  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  beauty  and   the  bliss  of  youth  are  close 

allied ; 
Upon  these    summits  mortals  may  not  linger 

long. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

And  even  in  their  change  both  are  forever 
sweet; 

Eternal  to  the  chosen  ones  is  joy  once  known. 

So  freshly  glorified  Pandora's  face  appeared, 

Shining  from  out  the  veil  woven  of  many 
hues, 

Which  now  she  throws  around  her,  hiding  god- 
like limbs. 

Her  countenance,  alone  revealed,  far  lovelier 
seems 

Than  when  't  was  rivaled  by  the  beauty  of  her 
form. 

It  now  becomes  the  perfect  mirror  of  her  soul. 

And  she,  the  loveliest,  sweetest,  most  confiding, 
yea, 

Trustful,  was  still  more  pleasing  as  a  mystery. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Such  transmutation  signifies  renewing  joy. 


PANDORA.  253 

EPIMETHEUS. 

And  new  joys,  she,  grief-bringing,  unto  me  did 
give. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Then  tell  me  !  follows  grief  so  quickly  after  joy  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

One  perfect  day  —  the  world  was  breaking  into 

bloom  — 
She  met  me  in  the  garden  covered  with  her 

veil, 
No  more  alone :   for  nestled  in  each  arm  she 

rocked 
A  darling  child;   two  daughters,  twins,  these 

half  concealed. 
She  lingered  that  my  great  astonishment  and 

bliss 
She  might  behold,  —  my  rapture  as  I  pressed 

them  close. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Alike  were  the  two  children,  say,  or  different? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Unlike  and  like  ;  resembling  each  the  other 
much. 


254  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Perchance  one  wore  the  father's,  one  the  moth- 
er's look. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Thou  hast  the  truth,  as  fits  the  experienced 

mind. 
Then  said  she  to  me  :  u  Choose,  — one  shall  be 

trusted  unto  thee, 
And  one  to  me  in  keeping  1    Quickly  make  thy 

choice ! 

Epimeleia  call  thou  this ;  Elpore  this  !  " 
I    looked   upon   them.      Roguishly   the    latter 

peeped 
From  out  her  mother's  veil  ;   when  she   had 

caught  my  look, 
She  drew  her  back  and  hid  upon  that  loving 

breast. 
Her  sister,   on  the  other  hand,  calm,   almost 

sad, 
After  she   first  had   fixed  her  gaze  upon  my 

face, 
Still  steadfast  looked,  holding  mine  eye  fixed 

to  her  own, 
And  won  my  heart  to  her,  and  would  not  let 

me  go: 


PANDORA.  255 

She    leaned    toward   me,    stretching    out   her 

hand,  and  sought 
My  help  with  the  strong  glance  of  one  who 

thirsts  for  love. 
How  could  I  withstand  this  !    I  took  her  in  my 

arms, 
Then  feeling  first  a  father,  clasped  her  to  my 

breast, 
And  strove  to  banish  from  her  brow  too  early 

care. 
So  stood  I,  nor  conceived   Pandora   vanished 

thus. 

I  followed  gayly,  calling  her,  already  far; 
But  she,  half  turning  toward  me  as  I  chased  her 

steps, 

Waved  with  her  hand  an  unmistakable  fare- 
well; 
I  stood  and  looked  as  turned  to  stone  :  I  see 

her  yet  ! 
Three  full-grown  cypresses  stand  stretching 

up  toward  heaven 
There,  wht-re  she  took  her  way.     She,  turning 

in  her  flight, 
The  child  once  more  uplifted,  once  more  showed 

it  me, 
Already  unattainable  within  her  arms; 


256  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

And  then,  in  the  next  instant,   moving  past 

those  trees, 
She  vanished.      Never  have  I  seen  her  form 

again. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Yet  not  so  wonderful  should  this  appear  to  one 

Who  binds  himself  unto  the  demons  thus  god- 
sent. 

Nor  blame  I  thee  for  thy  great  woe,  poor  wid- 
ower! 

Who  once  was  glad  he  still  repeats  his  joy  in 
grief. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Indeed  do  I  repeat  it!    Still  those  cypress  trees 
Remain  niy  only  walk.     There  yet  after  my 

love 
I  gaze  where  last  she  faded,  passing  from  my 

sight. 
Perchance,  I  thought,  by  this  same  path  she 

will  return, 
And  while  my  tears  ran  fountains,  clasped  my 

child 
Close,  in  its  mother's  stead.     She  looked  on 

me  and  wept, 
Wondering,  and  moved  by  innocent  sympathy. 


PANDORA.  257 

So   do   I  live    and  wear   the  endless   wasting 

time, 

Supported  by  my  daughter's  ever  tender  care, 
She  who  has  now  grown  needful  of  her  father's 

thought, 
Beyond  endurance  tried  by  most  unhappy  love. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Hast  thou  heard  nothing  from  the  twain  in  all 
this  time  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Cruelly  kind  sometimes  she  comes,  a  morning 
dream 

In  splendor,  led  by  Phosphoros:  and  flattering 
flow 

Promises  from  her  lips;  caressing  she  draws 
near, 

Then  wavering  vanishes.     By  eternal  change 

Thus  she  deceives  my  grief,  —  deceives  by  her 
sweet  "  Yes," 

Me,  the  imploring  one,  that  she  will  still  re- 
turn. 

PROMETHEUS. 

I  know  Elpore,  brother;  therefore  am  I  kind 
17 


258  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Unto  your  pain,   and  grateful  for  my  human 

race. 
Thou  and  the  goddess  to  it  brought  a  lovely 

form, 
Although  so  close  allied  to  those,  the  mist-born 

ones; 

Forever  pleasing,  she  deceives  the  innocent; 
No  son  of  earth  would  be  without  her.     To  the 

short-sight 

She  is  a  second  eye:  may  all  have  joy  of.  her! 
But    them,    who    strengthenest    thy    daughter, 

strengthen  thou 

What  !  canst  thou  not  hear  me  ?     Has  the  past 

all  thine  heart? 

EPIMKTIIEUS. 

Who  from  his  fair  one  is  doomed  to  be  parted, 

Let  him  flee,  in  his  going,  with  face  turned 
away  ! 

If  he,  looking  back,  still  must  gaze  broken- 
hearted, 

She  draws  him,  ah !  drags  him,  forever  astray. 

Question  ye  not  by  the  side  of  the  dear  one, 
Must  she  go  ?     Must  /  go  ?     A  terrible  pain 


PANDORA.  259 

Would    seize    upon    thee,    turning  thee    into 

stone, 
And   despair  would    but   make   a  loss  of   thy 

gaiu. 

If  thou   canst   weep,    and    while   tears    come 

thronging 

See  her,  through  distancing  tears,  as  afar; 
Stay !  it  may  yet  be!  to  love  and  to  longing 
Bendeth  the  night's  most  immovable  star. 

To  hold  her  once  more!   once  more  feel  the 

sweet  wonder  ! 

Joy  to  embrace  and  life  disposessed! 
If  no  stroke  of  lightning  shall  rend  ye  asunder. 
More    closely    press    ye,    then,    breast    unto 

breast. 

Who  from  his  fair  one  is  doomed  to  be  parted, 

Let  him  flee,  in  his  going,  with  face  turned 
away! 

If  he,  looking  back,  still  must  gaze  broken- 
hearted, 

She  draws  him,  ah !  drags  him,  forever  astray. 


260  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

May  that  be  called  a  blessing,  which  by  its 
presence 

Shuts  out  and  turns  away  whatever  brings  de- 
light, 

And,  absent,  torment  gives,  denying  all  com- 
fort! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

To  lovers,  fairest  solace  is  unsolaced  grief; 
Ever  to  strive  for  what  is  lost  is  finding  more 
Than  to  grasp  after  new.     What  sorrow  and 

vain  care ! 
Seeking  to  bring  back  what  has  passed  so  far, 

and  win 
The  unrestorable !     Ah!  empty,  fatal  pain! 

Deep  in  the  night  plunges  my  sense 
Down  through  the  shadows,  seeking  afar 
One  figure,  one  look!     Scarcely  so  clear 
She  in  the  day  stood  to  my  view. 

Hardly  to  waver,  seemed  the  sweet  form ; 
Swiftly  she  steps,  just  as  of  yore! 
Nearer  she  comes!     Shall  we  embrace? 
Now  she  is  gone,  thing  of  the  clouds. 


PANDORA.  261 

Soon  she  returns,  brought  by  desire, 
Wavering  now,  floating  in  air, 
Now  like  another,  now  like  herself, 
Vanishing  still,  keen  though  the  sight. 

Hither  she  comes,  yet  once  again, 
Clearer  than  ever  stands  in  my  path; 
Glorious!  let  me  have  chisel  or  brush! 
Turning  mine  eye  frights  her  away. 

Vain  is  the  toil !     There  is  no  grief 
Deeper  than  this,  sadder  than  this! 
Stern  though  the  laws  Minos  hath  made, 
Shadows  henceforth  ever  are  dear. 

Once  more  let  me  strive  hither  to  draw 
Thee  now,  my  wife!  hold  thee  embraced, 
Once  more  my  joy!  't  is  but  a  shade! 
Now  it  grows  dim,  now  it  dissolves. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Dissolve  thou  not,  my  brother,  swallowed  up  in 

grief! 
Thou  god-descended,  think  thou  yet  on  nobler 

years! 


262  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Unfitly  come  not  tears  unto  the  eye  of  youth; 
They  strain  the  eye  of  age:  I  pray  thee  weep 
thou  not. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The  gift  of  tears  can  soften  even  the  sharpest 

pain; 
They  gladly  flow  as  if  to  heal  the  inner  smart. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Look  up,  beyond  thy  grief!  See  yonder  the  red 

heaven  ! 
Hath  Eos  failed  to  find  her  accustomed  path 

to-day  V 
From  mid-sky  hither  see  where  dances  a  red 

glow! 
A  fire  from  out  thy  woods,  thy  dwellings  it  may 

be, 
Appears  to  flame !     Fly  thou !   The  presence  of 

the  lord 
Is  often  cause  of  good,  and  may  stem  many  a 

loss. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

"What  have  I  now  to  lose,  Pandora  being  gone! 
Let  these  be  burned!     Much  better  may   be 
built  again. 


PANDORA.  263 

PROMETHEUS. 

Undoing  is  a  good  when  there  is  no  more  use ; 

And  willingly  I  help!     But  accident  we  hate. 

Fly  quickly,  therefore,  seek  the  men  most  near 
to  us 

In  thy  command.  Bid  them  withstand  the  rag- 
ing flames. 

Already  do  I  hear  the  thickly  swarming  crowds, 

Equally  quick  alike  to  ruin  or  protect. 

EPIMELEIA. 

Help  I  cry  for, 
Not  fur  me,  no  — 
I  have  no  need  — 
Listen,  hear  it! 
Help  thotse  yonder  ; 
Ruin  threatens: 
I  was  ruined 
Long,  how  long,  since. 

When  he,  death-struck, 
Fell,  my  shepherd, 
Luck  then  fied  too; 
Vengeance  now  works : 
Waste  and  loss  come 
From  his  race  here. 


264  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

Fall  the  fences, 
Breaks  the  woodland, 
Mighty  flames  rise. 
Through  the  red  smoke 
Seethes  the  balsam 
From  the  pitch-pine. 

Now  the  roof  goes, 
Quickly  burns  up. 
Cracks  the  ridge-pole 
Ah!  it  falls  down, 
Falls  on  my  head, 
Far  though  I  be ! 
Guilt  is  seen  clear! 
Eyes  bend  on  me, 
Dark  brows  comma-  i 
Justice  to  seek. 

Turn  I  may  not 
Where  my  loved  oje 
Phileros  mad, 
Hath  cast  him  down 
In  the  sea-wave. 
Whom  he  loves  shall 
Worthy  prove  her! 


PANDORA.  265 

Love  and  remorse  drive 
Me  thus  flameward, 
Who  in  rage  fled 
Love's  fierce  burning. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  will  save  her,  — 
Her,  my  only! 
I  defend  her 
With  my  full  strength, 
Till  Prometheus 
Send  his  army. 
Then  renew  we 
Angry  contests; 
We  shall  free  us; 
They  shall  fly  then, 
Flames  extinguished. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Up,  the  work  calls ! 
See  them  swarm  now 
Round  the  steep  cliffs 
Of  your  night  home; 
Up  through  bushes, 
On  the  roof-top, 
Buzzing,  striving. 


UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

Ere  ye  draw  off 
To  the  far  land, 
Be  ye  helpful 
To  your  neighbor. 
Seek  to  free  him 
From  this  blow  of 
Savage  vengeance. 

WARRIORS. 

The  masters'  call, 
The  fathers'  need, 
We  follow,  all, 
At  our  best  speed  ; 
Born  thus  to  find 
Our  way  through  strife ; 
Like  storm  and  wind, 
It  is  our  life. 

We  go,  we  go, 
And  nothing  say 
Of  why  we  go, 
Or  what  the  way  : 
And  sword  or  spear 
We  bear  afar, 
And  there  or  here 
We  fear  no  scar. 


PANDORA.  267 

We  follow  brave, 
To  try  our  powers, 
What  gain  we  have 
The  gain  is  ours. 
Would  any  keep 
What  we  have  won, 
They  waste  and  weep 
Ere  they  have  done. 

Has  one  enough, 
Yet  wishes  more, 
Then,  wild  and  rough, 
We  snatch  his  store. 
His  home  is  sacked, 
His  house  is  burned, 
His  goods  are  packed, 
Ere  we  have  turned. 

Quick  from  the  place 
The  first  is  gone, 
And  draws  apace 
The  second  on. 
Through  thick  and  thin 
The  best  must  break, 
The  last  come  in 
Their  rights  to  take. 


268  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Ready  are  ye 
For  good  or  ill  1 
Devote  ye,  see 
Ye  work  my  will. 
Up  !     Easy  sons, 
Bring  your  swift  stroke, 
The  mighty  ones 
Shall  feel  the  yoke. 

Here  wise  and  gladly  works  the  high  compelling 

power 

Of  voluntary  service ;  the  fire  already  pales, 
And,  brother-like,  my  race  their  worthy  labor 

brings. 

Now  Eos,  undelaying,  swiftly  strives  to  mount, 
In  maiden  beauty  springing,  —  scattering  crim- 
son flowers 
Fromvher  full  hands.     See,  on  the  fringe  of 

every  cloud, 
How  rich  they  bloom,  shifting  their  hues  in 

endless  change! 
So   lovely   steps   she,   such   is   her   increasing 

charm 
The  son  of  earth  is  wont  to  veil  his  too  weak 

sight, 


PANDORA.  2G9 

Lest  Helios'  arrows  should  by  chance  my  people 

blind  ; 
The  illumined  they  may  look  upon,  but  not  the 

light. 

EOS  (rising  from  the  ocean}. 

Youth  thy  roses,  day  thy  blossoms, 
Sweeter  bring  I  now  than  ever, 
From  the  unexplored  recesses, 
From  unsounded  deeps  of  ocean. 
Speedily  the  day  hath  banished 
Sleep,  that  dwells  around  these  waters, 
Haunts  this  rock-encircled  harbor; 
Earnest  fisher,  fresh  from  slumber, 
Take  your  implements  in  hand  ! 

Quickly  now  your  nets  unwinding, 
Girdle  ye  the  well-known  precinct! 
Certain  of  a  lucky  capture, 
Cheerily  I  urge  ye  on. 
Swim,  O  swimmer!     Dive,  O  diver! 
Watch,  O  watcher,  from  the  cliff-side! 
Banks  shall  swarm  as  swarm  the  waters 
With  the  tide  of  busy  doers. 


270  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Thou  flying  one,  why  dost  thou  stay  thy  foot- 
step here? 
Why   fixest  thou    thy  glance  upon  this  harbor 

shore  ? 
Whom  dost  thou  summon,  ever-dumb,  whom 

dost  command  ? 

Since  no  one  hears  beside,  this  time  speak 
thou  to  me ! 

EOS. 

Save  this  youth,  O  save  him,  save  him! 
Who,  despairing  and  love-drunken,  — 
Drunken  for  revenge  and  chided, 
Down  into  the  veiling  waters, 
From  the  rock  hath  flung  himself. 

PROMETHEUS. 

What  do  I  hear  ?  Hath  Phileros  obeyed  the 
word , 

And  sought  a  watery  death, — himself  con- 
demned to  die? 

Up!  let  us  fly,  that  I  may  give  him  back  to 
life. 

EOS. 

Stay,  O  Father!     Has  thy  chiding 
Driven  him  to  seek  his  ending? 


PANDORA.  271 

All  thy  wisdom,  all  thy  striving, 
Cannot  bring  him  back  to  thee. 
Only  will  of  gods  all  mighty, 
Moved  by  the  unwasted  striving 
Of  his  life,  so  pure  and  simple, 
Gives  him,  new-born,  back  to  thee. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Is   he  then  rescued?     Answer  me,   and  seest 
thou  him? 

KOS. 

Yonder  see  the  stalwart  swimmer, 
Down  he  dives  beneath  the  waters; 
For  the  joy  of  life  upholds  him, 
Will  not  suffer  him  to  sink. 
Gently  sport  the  waves  around  him, 
Crisply  curling,  fresh  as  morning, 
Bearing  him  their  lovely  burden, 
Who  but  plays  among  the  waves. 
All  the  fishers,  all  the  swimmers, 
Lively  gather  round  about  him, 
Linger  near  him,  not  to  save  him, 
But  to  frolic  in  the  bath. 
There  the  dolphins  dance  around  them, 
Form  a  circle  there  together, 


272  UNDER   THE    OLIVE. 

Diving  down  and  fetching  upward 
Him,  the  lovelv,  the  refreshed; 
All  the  floating  crowd  tumultuous 
Swiftly  bring  him  back  to  land. 

And  in  life  as  well  as  freshness 
Land  will  nothing  yield  to  ocean; 
Every  hill  and  every  cliff-side, 
Gladdened  by  the  living  crowd! 
Every  vintner  from  his  wine-press, 
Drawing  from  his  rocky  cellar, 
One  cup,  then  another  offers, 
To  the  animated  waves. 
Now  the  god-like  one  arises, 
From  the  sea- foam  all-embracing, 
From  the  good  sea-monsters  friendly; 
Richly  decked  with  mine  own  roses, 
lie,  an  Anadyomen, 
Seeks  the  rocks.     The  crowned  goblet 
By  the  hand  of  age  is  offered, 
One  who,  bearded,  smiles  contented 
With  an  air  most  like  to  Bacchus. 

Clash,  ye  cymbals!     Sound,  ye  timbrels! 
Press  ye  round  him,  blessing  him, 


PANDORA.  273 

While  I  bathe  his  lovely  person 

With  my  glances  full  of  love. 

From  his  shoulders  skins  of  panthers 

Fall,  his  tender  thighs  half-hiding ; 

In  his  hands  he  holds  the  thyrsus, 

And  how  like  a  god  lie  steps. 

Hear'st  rejoicing?     Ilear'st  the  clanging? 

Now  the  day's  exalted  festal, 

Now  the  general  joy  begins. 

PKOMETHEUS. 

Why  tell  me  of  thy  festivals?    I  love  them  not; 
The   weary    find    enough    refreshment    every 

night. 
In  doing,  the  true  man  finds  his  best  holiday! 


Varied  riches  changing  hours  bring  to  us; 
But  the  hours  of  joy  are  the  god-chosen! 
Eos  glances  toward  the  heavenly  spaces, 
Where  she  sees  the  fate  of  day  unfolded. 
Thence  the  worthiest,  loveliest,  descending, 
Hidden  first,  but  soon  to  be  laid  open, 
Is  revealed,  and  soon  again  is  hidden. 
Phileros  steps  forth  from  out  the  waters, 
18 


274  UNDER  THE   OLIVL. 

From  the  flame  comes  out  Epimeleia; 

Now  they  meet  again,  and  each  the  other 

Feels  as  if  the  same  and  yet  another. 

Thus  in  love  united,  doubly  joyful, 

Take  they  up  their  journey.     Heaven   sends 

downward 

Both  by  word  and  deed  a  blessing  on  them ; 
Gifts  descend  were  formerly  undreamed  of. 

PROMETHEUS. 

New  things  please  me  not,  sufficient  favor 
Now  already  has  this  race  of  mortals. 
Only  in  the  present  do  they  sojourn, 
Rarely  dwell  on  yesterday's  achievements, 
On  its  loss  or  gain ;  the  whole  is  vanished. 
Even  grasp  they  roughly  at  the  moment 
What  they  meet  with,  take  it  to  themselves, 

then, 

Careless,  fling  it  from  them,  never  thinking 
Of  the  seed  that  sleeps  within  its  essence. 
This  I  blame ;  yet  neither  speech  nor  lesson, 
Nor  example,  even,  can  avail  them. 
They  go  onward  like  to  thoughtless  children, 
Groping  after  what  the  day  contains. 
Could  the  past  be  treasured  in  their  spirit, 


PANDORA.  275 

Moulding  fitly  by  its  light  the  present, 
This  were  well  for  all :  thus  could  I  wish  it. 


Longer  I  may  not  stay,  for  Helios'  coming 
Drives  me  unresisting  with  his  arrows. 
In  his  shining  glance  already  tremble 
Fainting  drops  of  dew  which  star  my  garland. 
Father  of  men,  farewell  !     I  pray  you  listen  : 
Remember,  the  desired  is  what  earth  wishes, 
But  what  is  best  to  give  is  known  in  heaven. 
The  Titans  begin  greatly;  but  to  follow 
On  to  eternal  good,  eternal  beauty, 
This  is  the  gods'  work;  let  us  trust  their  work 
iiig. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


PRELUDE.    (Page  3.) 

"I  compared  the  Greek  world  with  the  period  of  ado- 
lescence, not  in  the  sense,  that  youth  bears  within  it 
a  serious  anticipative  destiny,  and  consequently,  by 
the  very  conditions  of  its  culture,  urges  towards  an 
ulterior  aim,  presenting  thus  an  inherently  incomplete 
and  immature  form,  and  being  the  most  defective  when 
it  would  deem  itself  perfect, — but  in  the  sense,  that 
youth  does  not  yet  present  the  activity  of  work  —  does 
not  yet  exert  itself  for  a  definite  intelligent  aim,  —  but 
rather  exhibits  the  concrete  freshness  of  the  soul's 
life."  —  HEGEL'S  Philosophy  of  History. 

THE  LYRIC  MUSE.     (Page  11.) 
U0u  trouver  les  anciens  Grecs?      Ce  n'est  pas  dans 
le  coin  obscur  d'une  vaste  bibliotheque  et  courbe*  sur 
des  pupitres  mobiles  charges   d'une  longue  suite  de 


280  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

iTianuscrits  poudreux :  mais  un  fusil  a  la  main,  dans 
les  forets  d'Amerique,  chassant  avec  les  sauvages  de 
1'Ouabache.  Le  cliinat  est  moins  heureux,  mais  voila 
oil  sont  aujourdhui  les  Achilles  et  les  Hercules."  —  Di 
STENDHAL. 

"  Es  wird  ein  Friihling  kommen, 
Der  bringt  was  ward  ienommen, 
Die  Blumen  und  den  Kranz. 
Sei  freudig,  pei  geschmiicket, 
Die  unschuld  is  ein  Glanz  ! 

Und  kommt  der  ernste  Winter, 
Dann  sei  wie  andre  Kinder, 
An  meiner  Wiege  froh.*' 
Da  spracb  das  Kind  ergeben  ; 
"  Ja  Kind,  das  will  ich  so  ! 

"  All,  was  du  mir  bescberet, 
Hab  ich  von  dir  begehret, 
Mit  Liedes  Flug  und  Fall, 
Drum  will  ich  dir  lobsingen 
Trotz  Lerch,  trotz  Xachtigall." 

PATER  FRIFDRICH  SPEB 

To  TUB  POETESS.     (Page  15.) 
Among  the  ancients  Sappho  was  called  "The  Poet- 
ess "  and  Homer  "The  Poet." 

44  Chaste  Sappho,  with  thy  dark  tresses  and  thy  gen- 
tle smile,  fain  would  I  speak,  but  awe  restrains  me  '*  — 
ALC^EUS. 
Plato  calls  her  the  tenth  muse.    The  most  important 


NOTES.  281 

and  only  perfect  poem  preserved  to  us  is  a  magnificent 
Ode  to  the  Goddess  of  Love.  See  version  of  this  Ode, 
by  Mr.  J.  A.  Symonds,  in  an  appendix  to  his  first 
series  of  the  Greek  poets ;  also  one  by  Mr.  Edwin  Ar- 
nold in  ''Poems"  (1880).  "There  is  enough  of  heart- 
devouring  passion  in  Sappho's  own  verse,"  writes  Mr. 
Symonds,  "without  the  legends  of  Phaon  and  the  cliff 
of  Leucas.  These  dazzling  fragments  — 

"  '  Which  still,  like  sparkles  of  Greek  fire, 
Burn  on  through  time  and  ne'er  expire :  — 

are  the  ultimate  and  finished  forms  of  passionate  utter- 
ance." Every  vestige  that  is  left  of  her  is  shrined  in 
Bergk,  pp.  874,  924. 

"  0  poet  —  w.oman !  none  foregoes 
The  leap,  attaining  the  repose ! " 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

^ESCHYLUS.     (Page  17.) 

"Old  age  and  decay  lay  hold  of  the  body,  the  senses, 
the  memory,  the  mind,  —  never  of  the  self,  the  looker- 
on." —  MAX  MULL.EK,  Uphanished. 

From  the  time  of  his  first  tragic  victory  (Olymp.  73,  4; 
B.  c.  485),  JEschylus  wrought  with  all  the  energy  and 
patience  of  a  great  genius  at  his  art.  According  to  the 
most  credible  account  he  won  thirteen  tragic  victories. 
Yet  he  is  reported  to  have  been  exceedingly  hurt  at 
the  success  of  Sophocles  in  tragedy,  by  whom  he  was 
defeated  in  468,  B.  c.  See  MAHAFFY. 

"To  be  the  centre  of  a  living  multitude,  the  heart  of 


282  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

their  hearts,  the  brain  from  which  thoughts  as  waves 
pass  through  them,  this  is  the  be*t  and  purest  joy  which 
a  human  being  can  know."  —  DOWDEN'S  Essays. 
11  Aischulos'  bronze-throat  eagle-bark  at  blood 
Has  somehow  spoilt  my  taste  for  twitterings.'' 

R.  BROWMSG,  Arist.  Ap.  p.  94. 

"  Je  ne  puis  m'empecher  de  faire  un  triste  retour  de 
ce  grand  empire  de  France  sur  un  petit  peuple,  le  peu- 
ple  d'Athenes.  Oil  est  ici  la  gravite",  la  saintete  du 
theatre  antique?  Savez  vous  bien  qui  occupait  la 
scene,  qui  portait  la  drame  du  theatre?  Le  plus  vail- 
lant  soldat  Eschyle  ;  le  vainqneur,  apres  la  victoire, 
venait  la  raconter  lui  meme.  Et  savez-vous  qui  jouait, 
quels  etaient  les  acteurs  ?  C'etaient  sou vent  les  premiers 
magistrats ;  quand  il  s'agissait  de  reproduire  les  heros 
ou  les  dieux,  ils  n'heYitaient  pas  a  paraitre  sur  la 
scene,  regardant  comme  une  fonction  publique  dVlever, 
d'agrandir  1'ame  du  peuple.  Et  dans  la  circonstance 
la  plus  grave  du  monde,  apres  Marathon,  cette  mer- 
veilleuse  rictoire  de  la  civilization  sur  la  barbaric, 
lorsqu'  Athenes  voulut  remercier  les  dieux  de  la  patrie 
d'avoir  sauve  la  ville,  les  magistrats  ne  f  urent  pas  assez, 
personne  ne  parut  assez  digne;  on  chercha  dans  tout 
le  peuple,  ou  trouva  une  creature  virginale,  marque'e 
du  sceau  des  dieux,  rayonnante  de  jeunesse,  de  beaut^, 
fie  genie;  ce  fut  le  jeune  Sophocle  qui  fut  charge  de 
paraitre  seul  devant  les  dieux  pour  la  ville  d'Athenes. 
11  avait  quinze  ans  alors,  et  de  quinze  ans  a-  quatre- 
vingts,  par  une  production  non  interrompus,  dont  rien 


NOTES.  283 

dans  nos  ecrivains  modernes  peut  donner  l'id£e,  il  fit 
representer  cent  drames  et  fut  pendant  tout  un  sie'cle 
1'interprete  du  ge*nie  d'Athenes  et  le  mediateur  entre 
les  dieux  et  le  peuple.  — MICHKLET,  L'Etudiant. 
11  Athens,  —  a  city  such  as  vision 
Builds  from  tue  purple  crags  and  silver  towers 
Of  battlemented  cloud,  as  in  derision 
Of  kingliest  masonry." 

SHELLEY'S  Ode  to  Liberty. 

SOPHOCLES.     (Page  27.) 

"  Sophocles, 
With  that  king's  look." 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

"  In  Sophocles,  tragedy  has  long  since  broadened  from 
its  source,  and  the  strictly  religious  motive  is  veiled 
under  the  free  handling  of  triumphant  art.  Hardly 
any  of  his  subjects  are  taken  immediately  from  the 
Dionysiac  legend.  The  gods  seldom  come  upon  the 
scene,  and  their  several  attributes  are  less  distinct  than 
in  JEschylus.  Their  absolute  control  of  human  things 
appears  indirectly.  They  work  through  the  passions 
of  men.  But  the  Bacchic  fire  still  springs  forth  un- 
bidden." —  Sophocles,  by  LEWIS  CAMPBELL,  M.  A., 
LL.  D.,  Professor  of  Greek  in  the  University  of  St. 
Andrew. 

"The  audience  of  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles  were,  in 
fact,  the  Athenian  citizens,  en  masse,  assembled  in  the 
spirit  of  Dionysus  at  moments  of  high  solemnity,  and 
finding  in  his  observance  an  outlet  for  profound  emo- 


284  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

tions  which  stirred  them  individually  and  socially. 
They  were  a  people  who  had  lately  learned  that  polit- 
ical freedom  is  an  excellent  thing,  but  knew  not  yet 
all  that  it  meant,  or  into  what  struggles  and  dangers 
it  might  hereafter  carry  them  ;  a  people  who  had 
learned  and  had  taught  mankind  that  national  inde- 
pendence is  a  thing  worth  fighting  for,  but  had  too 
weak  a  hold  of  the  other  lesson  which  they  had  also 
taught  by  their  example,  that  the  federation  of  free 
peoples  is  nobler  than  any  form  of  tyranny ;  a  people 
with  glorious  memories  and  boundless  possibilities,  but 
surrounded  with  unknown  dangers.  This  people  gave 
their  whole  attention  to  tragic  performances  for  days 
together,  year  after  year.  Was  there  ever  such  an 
opportunity?  And  never  was  great  opportunity  more 
grandly  met." — THE  SAME. 

"The  primary  aim  of  tragedy  is  to  excite  universal 
sympathy  for  an  ideal  sorrow,  and  to  give  expression 
and  relief  to  human  emotion.  In  a  great  community, 
there  is  a  mass  of  grief  and  care  which,  in  the  common 
daylight  of  the  market-place  assembly,  is  conveniently 
ignored.  Thus  each  heart  is  left  to  a  knowledge  of  its 
own  bitterness,  and  pines  in  isolation.  But  when  men 
are  drawn  together  to  a  spectacle  of  imagined  woe, 
placed  vividly  before  the  faithful  witness  of  the  eye, 
the  fountain  of  tears  within  them  is  unlocked,  and  so- 
ciety of  grief  is  gained  without  confession.  Feeling  is 
at  once  consoled  by  communion,  and  sheltered  in  the 
privacy  of  a  crowd.  Fur  all  who  have  any  depth  ill 


NOTES.    ^    '  285 

them,  however  habitually  light-hearted,  such  an  occa- 
sional overflow  is  tranquillizing,  while  those  whose 
burden  presses  heavily  are  eased  and  comforted.  They 
are  rapt  from  the  narrow  contemplation  of  their  own 
destiny  into  a  world  where  all  private  trouble  is  anni- 
hilated, and  yet  is  typified  so  as  to  give  an  excuse  for 
tears.  .  .  .*  .  A  direct  result  of  tragic  representation  is 
the  enlargement  of  sympathy.  The  poet  sets  before 
the  spectators  a  life  different  'from  and  yet  akin  to 
their.*,  which,  however  strange  to  them,  powerfully 
stirs  their  hearts." — THE  SAMK. 

"Is  there  in  all  philosophy  a  thing  more  dignified, 
more  holy,  or  more  lofty,  than  well  ordered  tragedy; 
more  effective  for  the  concentrated  contemplation  of 
the  catastrophes  and  revolutions  of  human  life?"  — 
JOHN  MILTON. 

"In  the  Periclean  age,  reflecting  persons,  for  the 
first  time,  formed  a  clear  conception  of  Human  Nature. 
It  is  his  firm  grasp  of  this  idea  from  the  intellectual 
side  that  above  all  else  gives  permanent  value  to  the 
work  of  Thucydides.  The  same  thought  is  not  less 
clearly  apprehended  by  Sophocles  in  the  form  of  feel- 
ing, although  in  his  mind  it  is  never  dissociated  from 
the  recognition  of  powers  above  humanity,  of  a  '  divin- 
ity that  shapes  our  ends.'  Less  speculative  than  ^Eschy- 
lus,  less  skeptical  than  Euripides,  he  acknowledges  in 
each  event  a  revelation  of  the  divine  will,  which  he 
regards  as  just  even  when  inscrutable.  But  his  strong- 
est lights  are  thrown  upon  the  human  figures  them- 


286  UND^R   THE   OLIVE. 

selves,  which  appear  out  of  the  darkness  and  go  into 
darkness  again.  So  far  as  this  can  be  achieved  by  art, 
the  predestined  catastrophe  is  brought  about  by  the 
natural  effect  of  circumstances  on  character,  according 
to  the  saying  of  Heraclitus  in  the  previous  century, 
'Man's  character  is  his  destiny.'  The  gods  are,  for 
the  most  part,  withdrawn  to  their  unseen  Olympus, 
whilst  their  will  is  done  on  earth  by  seemingly  acci 
dental  means.  The  tradition  of  a  fore-determined  doom 
is  used  by  the  poet  as  an  instrument  for  evoking  fear 
and  pity:  the  blindness  of  the  agents  makes  us  feel 
doubly  for  their  fate,  and  gives  a  deeper  impression  of 
the  feebleness  and  nothingness  of  man.  And  yet  this 
Man,  who  is  nothing,  a  shadow  passing  away,  is  the 
central  object  of  our  sympathies  ;  and  this  life  of  his, 
so  feeble  in  the  sight  of  heaven,  yet  seems  with  every 
drama  of  Sophocles  that  is  seen  or  read,  more  rich  in 
noble  possibilities."  — LKWIS  CAMPBELL. 

"The  (Edipus  Coloneus  is  a  sublime  religious  poem; 
but.  as  compared  with  the  two  other  Theban  plays,  it 
must  be  acknowledged  to  have  less  of  concentrated 
tragic  power.  The  dramatic  structure  is  still  most  ad- 
mirable, but  more  scope  is  given  to  lyrical  and  rhetor- 
ical effects." — THE  SAME. 

"In  the  heroes  of  his  extant  plays,  Sophocles  pre- 
sents five  'ages  of  man,' — the  boy,  the  full-grown 
warrior,  the  established  ruler,  the  afflicted  solitary,  the 
time-worn  wanderer  whose  end  is  peace."  —  THE  SAME. 

"The  most  typical  and  regular  in  structure  of  the 


NOTES.  287 

choral  odes  are  those  which  hold  a  central  place  in 
each  of  the  great  tragedies,  where  the  action  pauses 
for  a  moment  before  hurrying  to  its  consummation  :  in 
the  Ajax,  'O  isle  of  glory; '  in  the  Antiyone,  'of  won- 
ders without  end,  most  wonderful  is  man ; '  in  the 
(Edipus  Tyrannus,  'May  it  be  mine  to  keep  the  un- 
written laws;'  in  the  Coloneus,  'Friend,  in.  this  land 
of  noblest  steeds  thou  art  come,'  etc.  In  each  of  these 
we  have  a  lyric  poem  of  the  highest  beauty,  which  at 
the  same  time  holds  a  distinct  place  in  the  economy  of 
the  drama." — THE  SAME. 

"  Who  saw  life  steadily  and  saw  it  whole." 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

"  The  close  of  Sophocles'  life  was  troubled  with  fam- 
ily dissensions.  lophon,  his  son  by  an  Athenian  wife, 
and  therefore  his  legitimate  heir,  was  jealous  of  the 
affection  manifested  by  his  father  for  his  grandson  So- 
phocles, the  offspring  of  another  son,  Ariston,  whom 
he  had  had  by  a  Sicyonian  woman.  Fearing  lest  his 
father  should  bestow  a  great  part  of  his  property  upon 
his  favorite,  lophon  summoned  him  before  the  Phra- 
tores,  or  tribesmen,  on  the  ground  that  his  mind  was 
affected.  The  old  man's  only  reply  was,  'If  I  am 
Sophocles,  I  am  not  beside  myself;  and  if  I  am  beside 
myself,  I  am  not  Sophocles.'  Then  taking  up  his 
(Erfipus  at  Colomts,  which  he  had  lately  written,  but 
had  not  yet  brought  out,  he  read  from  it  the  beautiful 
choral  ode,  with  which  the  judges  were  so  struck  they 
at  once  dismissed  the  case.  He  died  shortly  afterward, 


288  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

in  B.  c.  406,  in  his  ninetieth  year."  —  SMITH'S  History 
of  Greece  —  FELTOX. 

"Alcman  first  gave  artistic  form  to  the  choral  lyric 
by  arranging  that  the  chorus,  while  singing,  should 
execute  alternately  a  movement  to  the  right  (strophe, 
'turning'),  and  a  movement  to  the  left  (antistrophe); 
and  he  composed  the  songs  which  the  chorus  was  to 
sing  in  couples  of  stanzas  called  strophe  and  antistrophe, 

answering  to  these  balanced  movements Ste- 

sichorus  'marshal  of  choruses,'  completed  the  form  of 
the  choral  lyric  ....  by  adding  the  epode  sung  by 
the  chorus  while  it  remained  stationary  after  the  move- 
ments to  right  and  left."— R.  C.  JEBB,  M.  A.,  Greek 
Literature. 

"  As  an  artist,  as  a  perfect  exponent  of  that  intense- 
ly Attic  development  which  in  architecture  tempered 
Doric  strength  with  Ionic  sweetness,  which  in  sculpture 
passed  from  archaic  stiffness  to  majestic  action,  which 
in  all  the  arts  found  the  mean  between  antique  repose 
and  modern  vividness,  as  the  poet  of  Athens,  in  the 
heyday  of  Athens,  Sophocles  stands  without  an  equal. 
His  plots  are  more  ethical  than  those  of  Euripides;  his 
skepticism  is  more  reverent  or  reticent."  .  .  .  . — MA- 
HAFFY'S  History  of  Classical  Greek  Literature. 

"In  that  elaborate  piece  of  dramatic  criticism  .... 
the  Frogs,  it  is  extremely  interesting  to  notice  both 
the  respectful  reserve  with  which  Sophokles  is  treated 
as  if  he  were  almost  above  criticism,  and  the  particular 
force  of  the  few  passages  in  which  Aristophanes  more 


NOTES.  289 

expressly  refers  to  him 'Even-tempered  alike 

in  life  and  death,  —  in  the  world  above  and  in  the  world 
below,'  is  the  brief  but  expressive  phrase  in  which  his 
character  is  summed  up."  —  PIIILII*  SMITH,  in  Clnss. 
Diet. 

"  Sophocles  was  born  in  the  deme  Colonos,  within 
half  an  hour's  walk  of  Athens,  iu  the  scenery  which  he 
describes  in  his  famous  chorus  of  the  Second  (Edipus, 
and  which  has  hardly  altered  up  to  the  present  day, 
amid  all  the  sad  changes  which  have  seamed  and  scarred 
the  fair  features  of  Attica.  I  know  not,  indeed,  why 
he  calls  it  the  white  Colonos,  for  it  was  then,  as  now, 
hidden  in  deep  and  continuous  green.  The  dark  ivy 
and  the  golden  crocus,  the  white  poplar  and  the  gray 
olive,  are  still  there.  The  silvery  Cephissus  still  feeds 
the  pleasant  rills,  with  which  the  husbandman  waters 
his  thickly  wooded  cornfields;  and  in  the  deep  shade 
the  nightingale?  have  not  yet  ceased  their  plaintive 
melody.  —  MAHAKFY'S  History  of  Classical  Greek  Lit- 
erature. 

"The  skill  of  Sophocles  as  a  dramatic  poet  is  dis- 
played in  all  its  splendor  by  the  new  light  thrown  upou 

the  central  figure  of  GEdipns In  his  new  phase 

the  man  of  haste  and  wrath  is  no  longer  heedless  of 
oracles  ;  nor  does  he  let  their  words  lie  idle  in  his  mind. 
It  is,  therefore,  with  a  strong  presentiment  of  approach- 
ing death  that  he  discovers  early  in  this  play  that  his 
feet,  led  by  Antigone,  have  rested  in  the  grove  of  the 
Furies  at  Colonos.  The  place  itself  is  fair.  There  are 
19 


290  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

here  no  Harpy -gorgons  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  vipers 
twining  in  their  matted  hair.  The  meadows  are  dewy 
with  crocus-flowers  and  narcissus;  in  the  thickets  of 
olive  and  laurel  nightingales  keep  singing,  and  rivu- 
lets spread  coolness  in  the  midst  of  summer  heat.  The 
whole  wood  is  hushed,  and  very  fre>h  and  wild.  A 
solemn  stillness  broods  there;  for  the  feet  of  the  pro- 
fane keep  far  away,  and  none  may  tread  the  valley- 
lawns  but  those  who  have  been  purified.  The  ransomed 
of  the  Lord  walk  there.  This  solemnity  of  peace  per- 
vades the  whole  play,  forming,  to  borrow  a  phrase  from 
painting,  the  silver-grav  harmony  of  the  picture.  In 
thus  bringing  (Edipus  to  die  among  the  nnshowered 
meadows  of  those  Dread  Ladies,  whom  in  his  troubled 
life  he  found  so  terrible,  but  whom,  in  his  sublime  pas- 
sage from  the  world,  lie  is  about  to  greet  resignedly,  we 
may  trace  peculiar  depth  of  meaning.  The  thought  of 
death,  calm  but  austere,  tempers  every  scene  in  the 
drama-  We  are  in  the  presence  of  one  whose  life  is 
ended,  who  is  about  to  merge  the  fever  of  existence 
in  the  tranquillity  beyond.  This  impression  of  solem- 
nity is  heightened  when  we  remember  that  the  poet 
•wrote  the  Coloneus  in  extreme  old  age.  Over  him, 
too,  the  genius  of  everlasting  repose  already  spread 
wings  in  the  twilight,  and  the  mysteries  of  the  grave 
were  nearer  to  him  and  more  daily  present  than  to 
other  men. — J.  ADDIXGTON  SYMOXDS,  Studies  of  the 
Greek  Poets. 


NOTES.  291 

"  Let  there  be  light !  said  Liberty, 
And  liKe  sunrise  from  the  sea, 
Athens  arose  !  Around  her  born, 
Shone  like  mountains  in  the  morn 
Glorious  states  ;  and  are  they  now 
Ashes,  wrecks,  oblivion  ?    Go 
Where  Thermae  and  Asopus  swallowed 
Persia,  as  the  sand  does  foam. 
Deluge  upon  deluge  followed,  — 
Discord,  Macedon,  and  Home. 
And  lastly  thou  !  temples  and  towers, 
Citadels  and  marts,  and  they 
Who  live  and  die  there  have  been  ours 
And  may  be  thine,  and  must  decay  ; 
But  Greece  and  her  foundations  are 
Built  below  the  tide  of  war, 
Based  on  the  crystalline  sea 
Of  thought  and  its  eternity  : 
Her  citizens,  imperial  spirits, 
Kule  the  present  from  the  past, 
On  all  this  world  of  men  inherits 
Their  seal  is  set." 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

EURIPIDES.     (Page  37.) 

"Euripides  was  all  his  life,"  says  Mahaffy,  "apro- 
ific  and  popular,  though  not  a  successful  poet.  He 
was  known  to  have  won  the  first  prize  only  five  times, 
though  he  may  have  written  ninety  tragedies. 

"He  has  been  well  called  'der  Prophet  des  Welt- 
schmerzes." 


292  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

"  Triumphant  play,  wherein  our  poet  first 
Dared  bring  the  grandeur  of  the  tragic  two 
Down  to  the  level  of  our  common  life, 
Close  to  the  beating  of  our  common  heart." 

ROBERT  BROWNING,  Aristophanes'  Apology. 

"  The  lyrics  of  Euripides  are  among  the  choice* 
treasures  of  Greek  poetry:  they  flow  like  mountaii 
rivulets,  flashing  with  sunbeams,  eddying  in  cool, 
shad}r  places,  rustling  through  leaves  of  mint,  forget- 
me-not,  marsh-marigold,  and  dock."  —  SYMONDS., 
Greek  Tragedy  and  Euripides. 

"Erery  Greek  poet  (I  might  indeed  say  every  poet) 
is  strictly  the  child  of  his  day,  the  exponent  of  a  na- 
tional want,  the  preacher  of  a  national  aspiration,  ai 
once  the  outcome  and  the  leader  of  a  literary  public,  or, 
at  least,  of  a  public  which  craves  after  spiritual  suste- 
nance  But  in  no  case  are  these  considerations 

more  important  than  in  that  of  Euripides,  the  poet 
who  has  bequeathed  to  us  the  largest  and  most  varied 
materials  to  estimate  his  age:  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  age  —  the  age  of  Thucydides  and  of  Aristophanes, 
of  Pericles  and  of  Alkibiades,  of  Phidias  and  of  Al- 
kamenes  —  is  the  best  known  and  most  brilliant  epoch 
in  Athenian  history.  He  was  indeed  no  public  man, 
but  a  continued  student,  a  lover  of  bonks  and  of  soli- 
tude ;  but  yet  certainly  the  personal  friend  of  Pericles 
and  Socrates,  his  elder  and  younger  contemporaries, 
the  hearer  of  Anaxagoras  and  Prodicus;  if  not  the  ac- 
tive promoter,  at  least  the  close  observer,  of  all  that  was 


NOTES.  293 

great  and  brilliant  in  Athens,  then  the  Hellas  of  Hel- 
las, the  inmost  and  purest  shrine  of  all  the  national 
culture."  — MAHAFFY,  Euripides. 

"When  Euripides  produced  his  first  play  ^Eschylus 
was  just  dead,  and  though  Sophocles  was  in  the  zenith 
of  his  fame,  and  the  delight  of  all  Athens,  men  must 
have  looked  anxiously  for  the  appearance  of  a  new 
poet,  who  would  succeed  to  the  place  left  vacant  by 
the  veteran  dramatist.  To  such  Euripides  must  have 
been  indued  disappointing. 

"  His  last  plays  came  out  about  the  time  of  Sophocles' 
death,  when  men  despaired  of  seeing  any  worthy  heir 
of  either  in  tragedy,  for  the  younger  generation  had 
tried  in  vaiu  to  rival  these  poets  even  in  their  old  age, 
as  Aristophanes  plainly  informs  us.  Thus  our  poet's 
life  extended  from  the  noon  to  the  sunset  of  Greek 
tragedy.  His  posthumous  plays  were  the  rich  after- 
glow when  that  glorious  day  was  gone.  .  .  .  .  We  will- 
ingly believe  the  story  that  the  aged  Sophocles  showed 
deep  sorrow  at  the  death  of  the  rival  from  whom  he 
learned  so  much ;  but,  by  way  of  painful  contrast,  we 
find  Aristophanes  composing  upon  the  death  of  Euri- 
pides, his  bitter  and  unsparing  onslaught  in  the  Frotjs. 
For  at  this  time,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  sequel,  the  play- 
going  world  at  Athens  was  rapidly  veering  round  in 
favor  of  the  much-abused  and  oft-slighted  poet;  and 
Aristophanes  must  have  felt  with  disappointment,  that 
the  matchless  brilliancy  of  his  satire  was,  after  all, 
powerless  against  the  spirit  of  the  times  and  the  genius 


294  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

of  his  opponent Far  deeper  than  the  personal 

griefs  of  Euripides,  there  lay  upon  his  spirit  the  con- 
stant melancholy  of  unsolved  doubts,  of  unsettled  prob- 
lems, of  seeking  for  the  light  in  vain,  and  of  hoping 
against  hope  for  the  moral  reformation  of  mankind. 
Hence  our  beautiful  extant  busts  and  statues  represent 
him  worthily  as  the  '  jwet  of  the  world's  grief/  gen- 
tle, subdued,  and  full  of  sorrowing  sympathy.  Nor  is 
there  any  authentic  portrait  left  us  from  the  great  days 
of  Athens  so  interesting,  or  so  thoroughly  cosmopolitan 
as  that  of  the  poet  Euripides The  continued  riv- 
alry with  Sophocles,  the  most  successful  of  all  tragic 
poets,  the  darling  of  Athens,  the  most  consummate  art- 
ist of  his  day,  must  have  powerfully  affected  him.  The 
two  poets  indeed  differed  widely  in  their  conception  of 
the  drama.  When  they  treated  the  same  subjects  (as 
they  often  did)  they  appealed  to  different  interests,  and 
seem  never  to  have  copied,  seldom  to  have  criticised 
one  another.  But  we  find  that  Euripides,  the  more 
conscious  and  theoretical  artist,  showed  the  stronger 
character  even  in  his  art;  for  the  latest  extant  drama 
of  Sophocles  (the  Philocletes)  shows  a  striking  likeness 
to  the  plays  of  Euripides,  while  the  reverse  is  anything 
but  true;  the  latest  plays  of  Euripides  (the  Bacchoe 
and  Aulid  IpMyenia)  show  no  traces  of  an  increased 
influence  from  the  side  of  Sophocles. 

"  Yet,  broadly  speaking,  it  is  plain  that  our  poet  was 
no  originator  in  the  external  appliances,  or  even  in  the 
general  internal  plan  of  the  Greek  drama.  His  great 


NOTES.  295 

predecessors  had  introduced  him  to  the  Muse  of  Trag- 
edy, as  it  were  dwelling  in  a  splendid  temple,  and  hon- 
ored with  an  established  worship No  Greek 

poet  ever  received  more  constant  and  unsparing  ad- 
verse criticism,  and  from  the  ablest  possible  critic.  To 
have  outlived,  nay,  to  have  conquered  such  attacks,  is 

in  my  mind  an  astonishing  proof  of  genius The 

present  century,  while  correcting  the  antipathies  of 
Schlegel's  school,  has  nevertheless  not  reinstated  Euri- 
pides completely  into  his  former  position. 

41  We  understand  JEschylus  at  last,  and  see  in  him  a 
giant  genius,  without  parallel  in  the  history  of  Greek 
literature.  We  find  in  Sophocles  a  more  perfect  artist, 
in  complete  harmony  with  his  materials,  and  justifying 
the  uniform  favor  of  the  Attic  public.  But  many  re- 
cent editors  and  historians,  and  one  of  our  greatest 
poets,  Mr.  Browning,  have  set  themselves  to  assert  for 
Euripides  his  true  and  independent  position-  beside  those 
rivals,  who  have  failed  to  obscure  or  displace  him.  The 
Germans,  indeed,  still  infected  by  Schlegel,  talk  of  Eu- 
ripides as  the  poet  of  the  ochlocracy,  that  debased 
democracy  which  they  have  invented  at  Athens,  after 
the  suggestion  of  Thuc3"dides.  But  a  sounder  art  crit- 
icism, based  upon  the  results  of  English  and  Frencli 
scholarship,  which  does  not  spoil  its  delicacy  and  blunt 
its  edge  by  the  weight  of  erudition,  has  turned  with 
renewed  affection  to  the  sympathetic  genius,  who  de- 
lighted the  wild  Parthian  chiefs  with  his  Bacchic  rev- 
els, who  supplied  the  patient  monk  with  sorrows  for  his 


296  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

suffering  Christ,  who  witnessed  (in  truth  a  very  mar- 
tyr) to  truth  and  nature  in  the  stilted  rhetoric  of  the 
Koman  stage,  in  the  studied  pomp  of  the  French  court; 
•who  fed  the  youth  of  Racine  and  of  Voltaire;  who 
revived  the  slumbering  flame  of  Alfieri's  genius;  who 
even  in  these  latter  days  has  occupied  great  and  orig- 
inal poets  of  many  lands  —  Schiller,  Shelley,  Alfieri, 
Browning  —  with  the  task  of  reproducing  in  their 
tongues  his  pathos  and  his  power." — MAHAFFV  on 
£uripides. 

"  Our  Euripides  the  human, 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears, 
And  his  touches  of  things  common, 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres." 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

"  Loved  by  Sokrates/' 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"The  intimacy  of  Euripides  with  Socrates  is  beyond 
a  doubt,  and  it  is  said  that  the  latter  never  entered  the 
theatre  unless  when  the  plays  of  his  friend  were  acted." 
SMITH'S  Classical  Dictionary. 

;t  Lucian,  at  the  beginning  of  his  treatise  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  history  ought  to  be  written,  says  that  the 
people  of  Abdera,  a  city  in  Thrace,  during  the  reign  of 
Lysimachus,  were  so  affected  by  the  performance  of 
the  Andromede  of  Euripides  that  they  ran  raving  about 
the  streets,  repeating  from  il  the  '  Invocation  of  Love.' 

"  '  Tyrant  of  gods  and  men,  0  Love,  forbear,'  etc., 


VOTES.  297 

fill  a  severe  winter  restored  them  to  their  senses."  — 
WOODHULL'S  Translation,  quoted  from  unpublished 
notes  on  Aristophanes'  Apology  of  Robert  Browning, 
by  L.  L.  Thaxter. 

THE  LANTERN  OF  SESTOS.  (Page  43.) 
"  Among  the  lonians  of  Asia  Minor  was  developed 
the  pathetic  melody  of  the  Elegiac  metre,  which  first 
was  apparently  used  to  express  the  emotions  of  love 
and  sorrow,  and  afterwards  (see  (Joethe)  '  came  to  be 
the  vehicle  of  moral  sentiment  and  all  strong  feeling.'  " 
J.  A.  SYMONDS,  Studies  of  the  Greek  Poets. 

"The  idea  that  Spirit  is  immortal  involves  this, 
that  the  human  individual  inherently  possesses  infinite 
value.  The  merely  Natural  appears  limited,  absolutely 
dependent  upon  something  other  than  itself,  and  has 
its  existence  in  that  other;  but  immortality  involves 
the  inherent  infinitude  of  Spirit." — HEGEL'S  Philos- 
ophy of  History. 

"When  Leander  was  drowned,  the  inhabitants  of 
Sestos  consecrated  Hero's  lanterne  to  Anteros ;  Anteroti 
sacrum ;  and  be  that  had  good  successe  in  his  love, 
should  light  the  candle;  but  never  any  man  was  found 
to  light  it. — BURTON'S  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

HELENA.    (Page  61.) 

"  Was  this  the  fare  that  launched  a  thousand  ships 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ?  " 

MABLOWI 


298  UNDER   THE  OLIVE. 

"  The  tragic  poet  who  deceived  was  juster  than  he 
who  deceived  not,  and  he  that  was  deceived  was  wiser 
than  he  who  was  not  deceived."  — PLATO'S  Gorffins. 

"•A  theme  for  the  minstrel.'  The  Odyssey  gives 
us  a  lively  picture  of  the  minstrel  (aoidos)  bv  whom 
such  songs  were  sung  in  the  halls  of  princes.  A  king 
is  going  to  make  a  great  feast,  and  bids  his  herald,  the 
chamberlain  of  his  court,  to  invite  '  the  god-like  singer; 
for  to  him  the  god  has  given  song  abundantly,  to  glad- 
den us.'  So  the  chamberlain  livings  '  the  welcome  min- 
strel, whom  the'inuse  loved  exceedingly,  and  to  whom 
she  gave  both  evil  and  good;  she  took  away  his  eye- 
sight, but  she  gave  him  sweet  S"iig;'  he  sets  a  chair 
for  the  minstrel,  studded  with  silver  nails,  in  the  midst 
of  the  feasters,  firm  against  a  tall  pillar,  and  hangs  a 
clear-toned  harp  on  a  peg  just  above  his  head,  and 
guides  the  blind  man's  hands  to  touch  it;  then  he  puts 
a  table  beside  him,  with  food  and  wine.  When  the 
banquet  is  over,  the  minstrel  sings  to  his  harp  '  the  glo- 
ries of  men.'  Such  a  minstrel  was  not  looked  upon 
simply  as  an  artist;  he  was  thought  to  be  inspired  by 
the  gods.  And  so,  naturally,  he  had  a  sacred  charac- 
ter. When  King  Agamemnon  was  going  awav  to  the 
war  at  Troy  (the  story  said)  he  charged  the  minstrel  of 
his  house  to  watch  over  the  honor  of  the  Queen,  Cly- 
temnestra;  and  at  first  the  wicked  ^Egisthus  was  baf- 
fled, 'for  the  lady  was  discreet;  and,  besides,  the  min- 
strel was  present.'  —  R.  C.  JEBB,  Primer  of  Greek 
Literature. 


NOTES.  299 

"0  beauty!  how  fatal  art  thou  to  mortals!  how 
precious  to  those  who  possess  thee!  Helen  is  always 
the  woman  who  has  been!"  —  EUKIPIDES,  The  Ores- 
tes. 

"  La  vicillesse  meme  ne  pent  fle'trir  cette  femme  mar- 
veilleuse ;  le  temps  n'ose  point  1'attaquer.  Elle  par- 
court  1'espace  d'un  siecle  dans  le  cj'de  de  la  poesie 
antique,  toujours  jeune,  toujours  desirable.  Vivante 
image  de  la  B^aute  iddale,  1'homme  pent  souiller  sea 
formes  ephemeras,  il  n'attciut  pas  sou  tvpe  eternel." 
PAUL  PE  SAINT-VICTOR,  Hommes  vt  Dieux. 

Stesichorus  differed  especially  from  Homer  with  re- 
gard to  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  his  famous  palinodia 
aboutw  Helen  gave  rise  to  the  most  celebrated  story 
concerning  him.  He  had  in  the  opening  of  a  poem 
spoken  disparagingly  of  the  heroine,  who  struck  him 
with  blindness.  Plato  is  our  earliest  authority  for 
this  legend.  Se^  MAHAFFY'S  History  of  Classical 
Greek  Literature. 

"The  identification  of  Demeter  with  Rhea  Cybele  is 
the  motive  which  has  inspired  a  beautiful  chorus  in  the 
Helena, —  the  new  Helena,  of  Euripides.  —  that  great 
lover  of  all  subtle  refinements  and  modernisms,  wlm,  in 
this  play,  has  worked  on  a  strange  version  of  the  older 
story,  which  relates  that  only  the  phantom  of  Helen 
had  really  gone  to  Troy,  herself  remaining  in  Egypt 
all  the  time,  at  the  court  of  King  Proteus,  where  she 
is  found  at  last  by  her  husband  Menelaus."  —  W.  H. 
PATER. 


300  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

HERAKLES.     (Page  79.) 

"Herakles  is  among  the  Hellenes  that  Spiritual 
Humanity  which,  by  native  energy,  attains  Olympus 
through  the  twelve  far-famed  labors."  —  HEGEL'sPAt- 
losphy  of  History. 

"  Nay,  never  falter :  no  great  deed  is  done 
By  falterers  who  ask  for  certainty. 
No  good  is  certain,  but  the  steadfast  mind, 
The  undivided  will  to  seek  the  good : 
'Tis  that  compels  the  elements,  and  wrings 
A  human  music  from  the  indifferent  air. 
The  greatest  gift  the  hero  leaves  his  race 
Is  to  have  been  a  hero.     Say  we  fail !  — 
We  feed  the  high  tradition  of  the  world." 

GEORGE  ELIOT,  The  Spanish  Gypsey. 

"  Humanity  is  erronpously  counted  among  common- 
place virtues.  If  it  deserved  such  a  place,  there  would 
be  less  urgent  need  than,  alas,  there  is  for  its  daily  ex- 
ercise among  us.  In  its  pale  shape  of  kindly  senti- 
ment and  bland  pity  it  is  common  enough,  and  is 
always  the  portion  of  the  cultivated  ;  but  humanity, 
armed,  aggressive,  and  alert,  never  slumbering  and 
never  wearying,  moving  like  ancient  hero  over  (he  land 
to  slay  monsters,  is  the  rarest  of  virtues."  —  JOHN 
MORLEY'S  Voltaire. 

"  Prometheus  is  unbound  by  Hercules,  the  power  by 
which  the  divine  reason  in  the  fullness  of  time  rends 
the  fetters  of  the  creative  force;  and  the  new  nuptials 
of  Prometheus  and  Asia  give  birth  to  the  new  world, 


NOTES.  301 

fairer  than  the  old.  This  is  the  ever-renewed  drama  of 
creation." — J.  TODIIUXTKK,  Skelley,  a  Study. 

"  Herakles  is,  in  the  Greek  conception  of  the  type  of 
those  who  work  for  others,  one  condemned  by  his 
destiny  to  achieve  great,  difficult,  and  unrewarded  ex- 
ploits at  the  bidding  of  another."  — GROTE,  vol.  viii., 
chap.  Ixvii. 

ARTEMIS.     (Page  91.) 
"  Honoring  Apollo's  sister  Artemis, 
The  first  of  heavenly  ones  in  his  esteem  ; 
And  ever  roams  he  in  her  virgin  train, 
In  intercourse  too  close  for  mortal  man, 
Through  the  p  ile-\  ellow  woods,  with  Heetest  hounds. 
Scaring  the  wild  beasts  that  infest  the  land." 
EURIPIDES,  The  Crowned  Hippolytus.     Translated  into 
English  verse  by  MAURICE  PiutctLL  FITZ-GERALD. 

"  La  Mythologie  fait  de  Diane  la  fille  de  Latone, 
mais  le  sein  qui  I'a  portee  est  plus  vaste,  sa  conception 
plus  divine  encore.  C'e.st  dti  courant  des  sources,  de 
la  profondcur  des  ombrages,  des  bruits  du  vent,  des 
mysteres  de  la  solitude  que  Diane  est  sortie.  Tous  les 
Elements  chastes  de  la  nature,  toutes  les  purete's  du 
corps  et  de  I'ame  se  personnitient  dans  la  grande  vierge 

dorienne De  quels  prestiges  devait  Templir  les 

bois  sa  presence  sexrete!  Elle  sanctifiait  tons  leurs 
sites,  elle  divinisait  tous  leurs  bruits.  La  brise  qui 
troublait  le  feuillage  etait  peut-etre  sa  divine  haleine. 
Peut-etre  le  lac,  fre'missant  encore,  venait-il  de  recevoir 
son  corps  virginal.  Sa  chasse  merveilleuse  enchantait 


302  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

la  forgt :  elle  se  melait  a  toutes  ses  rumenr? 

Fuis,  t^meVaire,  pans  retourner  la  tete!  d^ja  tes  cliieng 
te  regardent  d'un  oeil  soupconneux."  —  PAUL  DE 
SAIXT-VICTOR,  Hummes  et  Dieux. 

AXTIXOUS.     (Page  99.) 

"The  Natural,  as  explained  by  men,  —  i.  e.,  its  inter- 
nal element,  —is  as  a  universal  principle  the  beginning 
of  the  Divine."  —  HEGKL'S  Philosophy  of  History. 

"In  Greek  beaut}-  the  Sensuous  is  only  a  sign,  an 
expression,  an  envelope,  in  which  Spirit  manifests  it- 
self.1'—THE  SAME. 

"Nothing  that  is  truly  beautiful  externally  is  inter- 
nally deformed.  For  everything  which  is  externally 
beautiful  is  so  in  consequence  of  the  domination  of  in- 
ward beauty."  —  PLOTIXUS. 

Fichte  says:  "  All  culture  must  proceed  from  the  will, 
not  from  the  understanding ;  ....  Man  does  not  con- 
sist of  two  beings;  he  is  absolutely  one;  ....  as  is 
the  heart  of  the  individual,  so  is  his  knowledge." 
"  Ich  halte  nichtp  von  dem,  der  von  sich  denkt, 
Wie  inn  das  Volk  vielleicht  erheben  mochte. 
Allein,  0  Jungling,  danke  du  den  Gottern, 
Dass  sie  so  friih  durch  dich  so  viel  gethan." 

GOETHE'S  Iphegenie. 

"  Aime  et  tu  renaitras  :  fais-toi  fleur  pour  e"clore." 

ALFRED  DK  MCSSET. 

"Antinous,  as  he  appears  in  sculpture,  is  a  young 


NOTES.  303 

man  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  year?,  almost  faultless  in 
his  form.  His  beauty  is  not  of  a  pure  Greek  type. 
Though  perfectly  proportioned  and  developed  by  gym- 
nastic exercises  to  the  true  athletic  fullness,  his  limbs 
are  round  and  florid,  suggesting  the  possibility  of  early 

overripeness The  -whole  body  combines  Greek 

beauty  of  structure  with  something  of  Oriental  volup- 
tuousness. The  same  fusion  of  diverse  elements  may 
be  traced  in  the  head.  It  is  not  too  large,  though  more 
than  usually  broad,  and  is  nobly  set  upon  a  massive 
throat,  slightly  inclined  forward,  as  though  this  posture 
were  habitual;  the  hair  lies  thick  in  clusters,  which 
only  form  curls  at  the  tips.  The  forehead  is  low  and 
somewhat  square;  the  eyebrows  are  level,  of  a  peculiar 
shape,  and  very  thick,  converging  so  closely  as  almost 
to  meet  above  the  deep-cut  eves.  The  nose  is  straight, 
but  blunter  than  is  consistent  with  the  Greek  ideal. 
Both  cheeks  and  chin  are  delicately  formed,  but  fuller 
than  a  severe  taste  approves;  one  might  trace  in  their 
rounded  contours  either  a  survival  of  infantine  inno- 
cence and  immaturity,  or  else  the  sign  of  rapidly  ap- 
proaching over-bloom.  The  mouth  is  one  of  the  love- 
liest ever  carved;  but  here,  again,  the  blending  of  the 
Greek  and  Oriental  types  is  visible.  The  lips,  half 
parted,  seem  to  pout;  and  the  distance  between  mouth 
and  nostrils  is  exceptionally  short.  The  undefinable 
expression  of  the  lips,  together  with  the  weight  of  the 
brows  and  slumberous  half-closed  eyes,  gives  a  look  of 
ulkiness  or  voluptuousness  to  the  whole  face.  This, 


304  UNDER   THE    OLIVE. 

I  fancy,  is  the  first  impression  which  the  portraits  of 
Antinous  produce;  and  Shelley  h:is  well  conveyed  it 
by  placing  the  two  following  phrases,  'eager  and  im- 
passioned tenderness'  and  'effeminate  sullenness'  in 
close  juxtaposition.  But  after  long  familiarity  with 
the  whole  range  of  Antinons's  portraits,  and  after  study 
of  his  life,  we  are  brought  to  read  the  peculiar  expres- 
sion of  his  face  and  form  somewhat  differently.  A 
prevailing  melancholy,  sweetness  of  temperament,  over- 
shadowed by  resignation,  brooding  reverie,  the  inno- 
cence of  youth  touched  and  saddened  bv  a  calm  resolve 
or  an  accepted  doom,  — such  are  the  sentences  we  form 
to  give  distinctness  to  a  still  vague  and  uncertain  im- 
pression  One  thing,  however,  is  certain  ;  we 

have  before  us  no  figment  of  the  artistic  imagination, 
hut  a  real  youth  of  incomparable  beauty,  ju<t  as  nature 
made  him,  with  all  the  inscrutahleness  of  undeveloped 
character,  with  all  the  pathos  of  a  most  untimely  doom, 
with  the  almost  imperceptible  imperfections  that  ren- 
der choice  reality  more  permanently  charming  than 

the  ideal 

"But  who  was  Antinous,  and  what  is  known  of 
him?  ....  He  first  appears  upon  the  scene  as  Ha- 
drian's friend.  Whether  the  emperor  met  with  him 
during  his  travels  in  Asia  Minor,  whether  he  found 
him  among  the  students  of  the  university  at  Athens, 
or  whether  the  boy  had  been  sent  to  Rome  in  his  child- 
hood, must  remain  matter  of  the  merest  conjecture 

After  journeying  through  Greece,  Asia  Minor,  Syria, 


NOTES.  305 

Palestine,  and  Arabia,  Hndrian,  attended  by  Antinous, 

came  to  Egvpt When  he  had  arrived  near  an 

ancient  citv  named  Besa,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river, 
he  lest  his  friei  d.  Antinons  was  drowned  in  the  Nile. 
He  had  thrown  himself,  it  was  believed,  into  the  water; 
seeking  thus  by  a  voluntary  death  to  substitute  his 
own  life  for  Hadrian's,  and  to  avert  predicted  perils 
from  the  Roman  Empire."  — J.  ADDINGTON  SYMOXDS, 
Sketches  and  Studies  in  Southern  Europe. 

"Let  me  feel  that  I  am  to  be  a  lover.  I  am  to  see 
to  it  that  «he  world  is  better  for  me  and  to  find  my  re- 
ward in  the  act.  Love  would  put  a  new  face  on  this 
•weary  old  world,  in  which  we  dwell  as  pagans  and  ene- 
mies too  long;  and  it  would  warm  the  heart  to  see 
how  fast  the  vain  diplomacy  of  statesmen,  the  impo- 
tence of  armies,  and  navies,  and  lines  of  defense, 
would  be  superseded  by  this  unarmed  child."  — R.  W. 
EMERSON. 

"  Life,  I  repeat,  is  energy  of  love 
Divine  or  human  ;  exercised  in  pain, 
In  strife  and  tribulation  ;  and  ordained, 
If  so  approved  and  sanctified,  to  pass 
Through  shades  and  silent  rest,  to  endless  joy." 
WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

"Call  it  Truth  or  Summer  going  forth;  seeming  to 
walk  miraculously  on  the  surface,  but  supported  by  a 
power  which  has  reached  firm  footing;  balancing  him- 
self gracefully,  maybe  a  long,  long  time ;  but  never 
getting  anywhere  until  he  has  made  his  dive  into  the 
20 


306  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

unknown.  —  A  ripple  closes  over  us."  —  From  a  letter 
by  WILLIAM  M.  HUNT,  describing  his  picture  called 
**  The  Bather." 

ACHILLES.     (Page  107.) 

"The  Iliad  has  for  its  whole  subject  the  'Passion  of 
Achilles'  —  that  ardent  energy  of  the  hero  which  dis- 
played itself  first  as  anger  against  Agamemnon,  and 
afterwards  as  love  for  the  lost  Patroclus.  The  truth  of 
this  was  perceived  by  one  of  the  greatest  poets  and  pro- 
foundest  critics  of  the  modern  world,  Dante.  When 
Dante,  in  the  Inferno,  wished  to  describe  Achilles  he 
•wrote,  with  characteristic  brevity  :  — 

"  '  Achille 
Che  per  aniore  al  fine  combatteo.' 

"The  wrath  of  Achilles  agahist  Agamemnon  which 
prevented  him  from  lighting;  the  love  of  Achilles, 
passing  the  love  of  women,  for  Patroclus,  which  in- 
duced him  to  forego  his  anger  and  to  fight  at  last; 
these  are  the  two  poles  on  which  the  Iliad  turns."  — 
J.  ADDIXGTON  SYMONDS. 

"  The  highest  form  that  floated  before  the  Greek 
imagination  was  Achilles,  the  son  of  the  poet,  the 
Homeric  youth  of  the  Trojan  war.  Homer  is  ^the  ele- 
ment in  which  the  Greek  world  lives  as  man  does  in 
the  air.  The  Greek  life  is  a  truly  youthful  achieve- 
ment. Achilles,  the  ideal  youth  of  poetry,  began  it ; 
Alexander  the  Great,  the  ideal  youth  of  reality,  con- 
cluded it.  Both  appear  in  contest  with  Asia."  —  HK- 
SEL'S  Philosophy  of  History . 


MOTES.  307 

"  Wem  die  Himmliscben  viel  Verwirrtmg  zugedacht 
haben,  wem  sie  erschiitternde,  schnelle  Wechsel  der 
Freude  und  des  Schmerzens  bereiten,  dem  geben  sie 
kein  holier  Geschenk  als  einen  ruhigen  Freund." — 
GOETHK'S  Iphiyenie. 

"Parle  avec  confiance  ; 
Le  severe  Dieu  silence 
Est  un  des  freres  de  la  Mort ; 
En  se  plaignant  on  se  console, 
Et  quelquefois  une  parole 
Nous  a  de'livre"  d'un  remords." 

ALFRED  DE  MDSSET. 

"  In  the  world  secular  business  demands  accomplish- 
ment, and  ultimately  the  discovery  is  made  that  spirit 
finds  the  goal  of  its  struggle  and  its  harmonization  in 
that  very  sphere  which  it  made  the  object  of  its  resist- 
ance,—  it  finds  that  secular  pursuits  are  a  spiritual 
occupation."  —  HEGEL'S  Philosophy  of  History. 

"  What  is  it  that  gives  to  each  individual  the  pecul- 
iar character  of  his  particular  life'?  I  answer,  it  is  the 
love  of  this  particular  and  individual  life.  Show  me 
what  thou  truly  lovest,  what  thoti  seekest  and  strivest 
for  with  thy  whole  heart  when  thou  wouldst  attain  to 
true  enjoyment  of  thyself,  —  and  thou  hast  thereby 
shown  me  thy  life.  .  .  .  That  to  many  men  it  may  be 
no  easy  matter  to  answer  such  a  question,  since  tlu-y 
do  not  even  kno.w  what  they  love,  proves  onlj-  that 
they  do  not  in  reality  love  anything;  and  just  on  that 
account  do  they  not  live  because  they  do  not  love." 
FICHTK,  The  Blessedness  of  lift. 


308  UNDER   THE  OLIVE. 

APHRODITE  OF  MEI,OS.     (Page  115.) 
"  Volge  sua  sfera  e  beata  si  gode." 

DANTB. 

"  And  in  thy  face 
I  see,  astonied,  that  severe  content 
Which  comes  of  thought  and  musing." 

KEATS ?  Hyperion. 

"  My  daughter,  Venus  is  not  Love  alone, 
But  many  a  title  "longs  to  her  beside. 
She  is  deep  Hades  ;  she  is  deathless  Foice, 
And  she  is  maddening  Frenzy  ;  she  's  Desire 
Unmingled  ;  she  is  Mourning  ;  all  ;s  in  her 
That  ?s  eager,  that  is  tranquil,  that  ;s  perverse. 
For  she  invades  each  bosom  that  hath  lodged 
A  soul.    What  heart  is  not  this  goddess'  prey  1  " 

Attributed  to  EURIPIDES. 

"Piety  is  no  end  or  aim,  it  is  a  means  by  which, 
through  the  purest  tranquillity  of  mind,  the   highest 
culture  is  attained."  —  GOETHE'S  Spriiche  in  Prosa. 
"  0  Beauty,  old,  yet  ever  new ! 

Eternal  Voice  and  inward  Word, 
The  Logos  of  the  Greek  and  Jew, 
The  old  sphere-music  which  the  Samian  heard  ! 

"  Nor  bounds,  nor  clime,  nor  creed  thou  know'st, 

Wide  as  our  need  thy  favors  fall ; 
The  white  wings  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
Stoop,  seen  or  unseen,  o'er  the  heads  of  all." 

WHITTIKB. 

"Nothing  so  lifts  a  man  from  all  his  mean  imprison- 
ments, were  it  but  for  moments,  as  true  admiration." 
THOMAS  CARLYLE. 


NOTES.  309 

"-The  love  of  beauty  is  nothing  different  from  that 
first  and  leading  motive  in  all  minds  to  the  pursuit  of 
everything,  namely,  that  motive  whence  the  philoso- 
pher sets  out  in  his  inquiry  after  wisdom,  the  desire  of 
good.  Thus  the  perfection  of  man  consists  in  his  simil- 
itude^to  this  supreme  beauty;  and  in  his  union  with  it 
is  found  his  supreme  good."  — FLOYEK  SYPKNHAM. 

"It  is  not  the  transient  breath  of  poetic  license  that 

women  want ;  each  can  receive  that  from  a  lover 

It  is  the  birthright  of  every  being  capable  to  receive  it, 
—  the  freedom,  the  religions,  intelligent  freedom,  of  the 
universe,  to  use  its  means,  to  learn  its  secrets  as  far  as 
nature  has  enabled  them,  with  God  alone  for  their 

guide  and  their  judge We  would  have  every 

arbitrary  barrier  thrown  down.  We  would  have  every 
path  thrown  open  as  freely  to  woman  as  to  man.  Were 
this  done,  and  the  slight  temporary  fermentation  al- 
lowed to  subside,  we  believe  that  the  divine  would  as- 
cend into  nature  to  a  height  unknown  in  the  history 
of  past  ages:  and  nature,  thus  instructed,  would  regu- 
late the  spheres,  not  only  so  as  to  avoid  collision,  but 
to  bring  forth  ravishing  harmony."  — MARGARET  FUL- 
LER. 

"Cette  Ve"nus  n'est  pas  la  Cypris  frivole  d'Anacreon 
et  d'Ovide,  celle  qtti  forme  T Amour  aux  ruses  erotiques, 
et  a  laquelle  on  immole  les  oiseaux  lascifs.  C'est 
la  Ve*nus  Celeste,  la  Venus  Victorieuse,  toujours  de"- 
Bire"e,  jamais  posse"dee,  absolue  comme  la  vie,  dont  le 
feu  centrale  reside  dans  son  sein  ;  invincible  comme 


310  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

1'attrait  des  sexes  auquel  elle  preside,  chaste  comme 
1'Eternelle  Beaute"  qu'elle  personifie.  C'est  la  Ve'nus 
qu'adorait  Platon,  et  dont  C^sar  donnait  le  nom  —  Ve- 
nus Victrix  —  pour  mot  d'ordre  ii  son  arme'e,  la  veille 
de  Pharsale.  Elle  est  la  flamnie  qui  cre'e  et  qui  con- 
serve, Pinstigatrice  des  grandes  ehoses  et  des  projets 
heroiqnes.  Ce  qu'il  y  a  de  pur  dans  les  affections  ter- 
restres,  I'amedes  sens,  1'etincelle  crearrice,  la  particule 
sublime  melee  a  Palliate  des  passions  grossieres,  tout 
cela  lui  appartient  de  plein  droit.  Le  reste  revient  aux 
Venus  vulgaires,  copies  profanees  de  son  type  qui  se 
parent  de  ses  attributs  et  usurpent  son  pedestal.  Quel- 
ques-uns  croient  que  son  pied  nuitile  reposait  sur  un 
globe;  ce  symbole  completerait  sa  grandeur.  Les  as- 
tres  gravitent  en  cadence  autour  de  la  Ve'nus  celeste, 
et  le  monde  roule  harnionieiiseinent  sous  son  pied."  — 
PAUL  DE  SAIXT-VICTOK,  Hommes  et  Dieux. 

ELKGY  TO  DAPMNIS.     (Page  131.) 
"True   enjoyment  consists   in   those   pure  delights 
which  do  not  arise  after  pain,  but  which  the  soul  ex- 
periences when  fillt-d  with   the  contemplation  of  true 
being."  —  PLATO'S  Republic. 

"  When  we  proximately  accede  to  that  which  cannot 
be  impelled,  tlien  we  shall  imitate  the  soul  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  the  soul  of  the  stars,  and,  becoming  near 
through  similitude,  we  shall  hasten  to  be  one  and  the 
same  with  them."  — PLOTINUS. 

"Nothing,  which  is  comprehended  in  being,  per- 
ishes." —  PLOTINUS. 


NOTES.  311 

"  This,  therefore,  is  the  life  of  the  gods  and  of  di- 
vine and  happy  men,  a  liberation  from  all  terrene  con- 
cerns, a  life  unaccompanied  with  human  pleasures,  and 
a  flight  of  the  alone  to  the  alone."  —  PI.OTIXUS. 

"  Bards  of  Passion  and  of  Mirth, 
^  Ye  have  left  your  souls  on  earth ! 

Ye  have  souls  in  heaven  too, 
Double-lived  iu  regions  new  !  " 

Joux  KEATS. 

PERSEPHONE.    (Page  139.) 

"  Wer  jung  die  Erde  verlassen 
Wandelt  auf  ewig  jung  im  Reiche  Pereephoueia's 
Ewig  erscheint  er  jung  den  Kiinftigen,  ewig  ersehnet.'r 
GOETHE'S  Achilleit. 

"The  central  expression  of  the  story  of  Demeter  and 
Persephone  is  the  Homeric  hymn  to  which  Grote  as- 
signs a  date  at  least  as  early  as  six  hui.dred  years  before 
Christ.  The  one  survivor  of  a  whole  flight  of  hymns 
on  this  subject,  it  was  written  perhaps  for  one  of  those 
contests  which  took  place  on  the  seventh  day  of  the 
Eleusinian  festival,  and  in  which  a  bunch  of  ears  of 
corn  was  the  prize;  perhaps  for  actual  use  in  the  mys- 
teries themselves  by  the  Hierophautes  or  Interpreter, 
who  showed  to  the  worshipers  at  Eleusis  those  sacred 
places  to  which  the  poem  contains  so  many  references. 
....  What  follows  is  an  extract  from  an  abbreviated 
version  of  this  hymn." 

"  I  begin  the  song  of  Demeter,"  says  the  prize-poet, 


312  UNDER  THE  OLIVE. 

or  the  Interpreter  of  the  holy  places,  "the  song  of. 
Demeterand  her  daughter  Persephone,  whom  Aidoneus 
carried  away,  by  the  consent  of  Zeus,  as  she  plaved, 
apart  from  her  mother,  with  the  deep-bosomed  daugh- 
ters of  the  Ocean,  gathering  flowers  in  a  meadow  of  soft 
grass,  roses,  and  the  crocus,  and  fair  violets,  and  flags, 
and  hyacinths,  and,  above  all,  the  strange  flower  of  the 
Narcissus,  which  the  Earth,  favoring  the  desire  of  Ai- 
doneus, brought  forth  for  the  first  time,  to  snare  the 
V>otsteps  of  the  flower-like  girl.  A  hundred  heads  of 
blossom  grew  up  from  the  roots  of  it,  and  the  sky  and 
the  earth  and  the  salt  sea  were  glad  at  the  scent  thereof. 
She  stretched  forth  her  hand  to  take  the  flower;  then 
the  earth  opened,  and  the  king  of  the  great  nation  of 

the  dead  sprang  out  with  his  immortal  horses 

"Demeter  sent  upon  the  earth,  in  her  anger,  a  year 
of  grievous  famine.  The  dry  seed  remained  hidden  in 
the  soil ;  in  vain  the  oxen  drew  the  ploughshare  through 
the  furrows;  much  white  seed-corn  fell  fruitless  on  the 
earth,  and  the  whole  human  race  had  like  to  have  per- 
ished, and  the  gods  had  no  more  .'ervice  of  men,  unless 
Zeus  had  interfered.  First  he  sent  Iris,  afterwards  all 
the  gods,  one  by  one,  to  turn  Demeter  from  her  anger; 
but  none  was  able  to  persuade  her;  she  heard  their 
words  with  a  hard  countenance,  and  vowed  by  no 
means  to  return  to  Olympus,  nor  to  yield  the  fruit  of 
the  earth,  until  her  eyes  had  seen  her  lost  daughter 
again.  Then,  last  of  all,  Zeus  sent  Hermes  into  the 
kingdom  of  the  dead,  to  persuade  Aidoneus  to  suffer 


NOTES.  313 

his  bride  to  return  to  the  light  of  day.  And  Hermes 
found  the  king  at  home  in  his  palace,  sitting  on  a 
couch,  beside  the  shrinking  Persephone,  consumed 
within  herself  by  desire  for  her  mother.  A  doubtful 
smile  passed  over  the  face  of  Aidoneus;  yet  he  obeyed 
the  message,  and  bade  Persephone  return;  yet  praying 
her  a  little  to  have  gentle  thoughts  of  him,  nor  judge 
him  too  hardly,  who  was  also  an  immortal  god.  And 
Persephone  arose  up  quickly  in  great  joy;  but  before 
she  departed,  he  caused  "her  to  eat  a  morsel  of  sweet 
pomegranate,  designing  secretly  thereby  that  she  should 
not  remain  always  upon  earth,  but  might  sometime  re- 
turn to  him.  And  Aidoneus  yoked  the  horses  to  his 
chariot;  and  Persephone  ascended  into  it;  and  Hermes 
took  the  reins  in  his  hands  and  drove  out  through  the 
infernal  halls;  and  the  horses  ran  willingly;  and  they 
two  quickly  passed  over  the  ways  of  that  long  journey, 
neither  the  waters  of  the  sea,  nor  of  the  rivers,  nor  the 
deep  ravines  of  the  hills,  nor  the  cliffs  of  the  shore, 
resisting  them;  till  at  last  Hermes  placed  Persephone 
before  the  door  of  the  temple  where  her  mother  was; 
who,  seeing  her,  ran  out  quickly  to  meet  her,  like  a 
maenad  coming  down  a  mountain-side  dusky  with 

woods So  Uemeter  suffered  the  earth  to  yield 

its  fruits  once  more,  and  the  land  was  sudd'enly  laden 
with  leaves  and  flowers  and  waving  corn.  Perseph- 
one also  visited  the  princes  of  Eleusis  and  instructed 
them  in  Ihe  performance  of  her  sacred  rites, — those 
mysteries  of  which  no  tongue  may  speak.  Only, 


314  UNDER   THE   OLIVE. 

bfessed  is  he  whose  eyes  have  seen  them ;  his  lot  after 
death  is  not  as  that  of  other  men  !  "  —  From  the  Myth 
of  Demeter  and  Persephone,  by  W.  H.  PATER. 

"In  three  lines  of  the  Theoyony  we  find  the  stealing 
of  Persephone  by  Akloneus,  one  of  those  things  in 
Hesiod,  perhaps,  which  are  really  older  than  Homer. 
Hesiod  has  been  called  the  poet  of  helots,  and  is  thought 
to  have  preserved  some  of  the  traditions  of  those  earlier 
inhabitants  of  Greece  who  had  become  a  kind  of  serfs; 
and  in  a  certain  shadowiness  in  his  conception  of  the 
gods,  contrasting  with  the  concrete  and  heroic  forms 
of  the  gods  of  Homer,  \ve  may  perhaps  trace  something 
of  the  quiet  brooding  of  a  subdued  people, — of  that 
dreamy  temper  to  which  the  story  of  Persephone  prop- 
erly belongs.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  in  Hesiod 
that  the  two  images,  divided  in  Homer,  the  goddess  of 
summer  and  the  goddess  of  death, —  Kore  and  Perseph- 
one,—  are  identified  with  much  significance,  and  that 
strange  dual  being  makes  her  first  appearance,  whose 
latent  capabilities  the  poets  afterwards  developed, 
among  the  rest,  a  peculiar  blending  of  those  two  con- 
trasted aspects,  full  of  purpose  for  the  duly  chastened 
intelligence.  Awake,  and  sing,  ye  that  dwell  in  the 
dust."  —  THE  SA.MK. 

"There  is  an  attractiveness  in  these  goddesses  of  thi 
earth  akin  to  the  influence  of  cool  places,  quiet  hours, 
subdued  light,  tranquillizing  voices.  .  .  .  This  invtb 
illustrates  the  power  of  the  Greek  religion  as  a  religior 
of  pure  ideas,  of  conceptions,  which,  having  no  link  oa 


NOTES.  315 

historical  fact,  yet  because  they  arose  naturally  out  of 
the  spirit  of  man,  and  embodied,  in  adequate  symbols, 
his  deepest  thoughts  concerning  the  conditions  of  his 
physical  and  spiritual  life,  maintained  their  hold 
through  man}'  changes,  and  are  still  not  without'  a 
solemnizing  power  even  for  the  modern  mind,  which 
has  once  admitted  them  as  recognized  and  habitual 
inhabitants;  and  abiding  thus  for  the  elevation  and 
purifying  of  our  sentiments,  long  after  the  earlier  and 
simpler  races  of  their  worshipers  have  passed  away, 
they  may  be  a  pledge  to  us  of  the  place  in  our  culture, 
at  once  legitimate  and  possible,  of  the  associations,  the 
conceptions,  the  imagery,  of  Greek  religious  poetry  in 
general,  — of  the  poetry  of  all  religions."  —  THE  SAME. 

PASDORA.    (Page  197.) 

Mr.  Symonds  renders  thus  succinctly  the  story  of 
Pandora  as  given  by  Hesiod. 

"Work,"  he  says  ''is  necessary  for  men,  because 
Zeus  has  concealed  and  hidden  far  away  our  means  of 
livelihood,  so  that  we  are  forced  to  toil  and  suffer  in 
the  search  for  sustenance.  In  old  days  the  human 
race  had  fire,  and  offered  burnt  sacrifice  to  heaven ; 
but  Prometheus  by  his  craft  deceived  the  gods  of  their 
just  portion  of  the  victims,  making  Zeus  take  the  bones 
and  fat  for  his  share.  Whereupon  Zeus  deprived  men 
of  the  use  of  fire.  Prometheus  then  stole  fire  from 
heaven  and  gave  it  back  to  men.  Then  was  cloud- 
gathering  Zeus  full  wroth  of  heart,  and  he  devised  a 


316  UNDER  THE   OLIVE. 

great  woe  for  all  mankind.  He  bade  Hephaistos  mix 
earth  and  water,  and  infuse  into  the  plastic  form  a  hu- 
man voice  and  human  powers,  and  liken  it  in  all  points 
to  a  heavenly  goddess. "  Athene  was  told  to  teach  the 
woman  th-us  made  household  work  and  skill  in  weav- 
ing. Aphrodite  poured  upon  her  head  the  charm  of 
beaut}',  with  terrible  desire,  and  flesh-consuming 
thoughts  of  love.  But  Zeus  commanded  Hermes  to 
give  to  her  the  mind  of  a  dog  and  wily  temper.  After 

this  fashion  was  the  making  of  Pandora Then 

Pandora  was  sent  under  the  charge  of  Hermes  to  Epi- 
metheus,  who  remembered  not  his  brother's  words, 
how  he  had  said :  '  Receive  no  gift  from  Zeus  but 
send  it  back  again,  lest  evil  should  befall  the  race 
of  men.'  .... 

"Just  as  Prometheus  signifies  the  forecasting  reason 
of  humanity,  so  Epimetheus  indicates  the  overhasty 
judgment  foredoomed  to  be  wise  too  late.  These  are 
intellectual  qualities."  —  J.  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS. 

The  translator  cannot  print  this  version  of  Goethe's 
poem  without  one  word  of  gratitude  to  Bayard  Taylor. 
It  was  his  reference  to  Goethe's  Pandora,  in  a  paper 
written  from  Weimar  some  years  since,  which  first 
called  her  attention  to  it,  and  it  was  his  patient  revis- 
ion of  her  translation,  a  few  years  later,  which  first 
suggested  the  idea  of  giving  it  to  the  public.  The 
beautiful  line,  "Depth  of  shade  and  love's  inviolate 
longing"  is  Bayard  Taylor's. 

"  Ein  grosseres  Werk  begann  Goethe  1807  fiir  die  Zeit- 


NOTES.  317 

schrift  Prometheus  des  befreundeten  Leo  v.  Seckendorf , 
fur  dessen  Neujahrstaschenbuch  auf  1801  Goethe  ehe- 
mals  seinen  Palaophron  und  Neoterpe  mitgetheilt.  Er 
sagte  auf  den  Wunsch  des  Herausgebers  einen  Beitrag 
zu,  und  wahlte  Pandora's  Wiederkunft,  wiederum 
wie  das  Vorspiel  in  antiken  Trimetern,  die  ihm  so  viel 
Miihe  machten,  dass  er  nicht  tiber  Pandoren's  abschied 
hinauskam.  '  Wenn  es  mir  so  viel  Miihe  macht,' 
scherzt  er  in  einem  Briefe  an  Frau  v.  Stein,  'sie  wieder 
herbeizuholen,  alsesmirverursachte,  sie  fortzuschaffen, 
so  weiss  ich  nicht,  wann  wir  sie  wiedersehen  warden.' 
So  war  es.  Die  Gestalten  selbst  traten  ihm  in  die  Ferue 
und  er  verwundete  sich  iiber  das  Titanische,  wenu  er 
epater  wieder  hineui  sah."  — GOETHE'S  Werke,  Erster 
Band,  Stuttgart,  1866,  p.  cli. 


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